Will you?
by BlueSphinx
Summary: Ron lost a ring, Harry his love, Bill his nerve, Albus his life, Alastor his heart, and Dolores probably her mind. But a proposal is a proposal, even if something is lost. CHAPTER 20: Victoire and Ted
1. Fleur and Bill

**Disclaimer:** The places, and characters, and creatures that you recognize as coming from the "Harry Potter" books do not belong to me.

**----------**

_**Chapter 1: Fleur and Bill**_

"Ah, it's a bore!" Bill Weasley complained to his only employee who wasn't on a holiday currently, letting his head drop to the table. The whole desk was littered with parchment, mostly applications for withdrawals to be made from different accounts, and be sent to the respective people. Only in those few hours of this morning more money than he earned in a year had probably passed through his hands. But he was used to that.

The burly goblin didn't pay him any attention as he unceremoniously made some free space on the desk to occupy it with the bottle of icy butterbeer he had been asked to bring. Without another word he left, leaving his boss alone again. But Bill had grown used to that, too.

He let the bright mid-June sun shine onto his back through the open window, and drowned half of his drink to fight with its intense heat. The beginning of the summer was promising —it would probably be as hot and dry as last year had been. And Bill liked warmth; during the years he had spent in Egypt he had grown accustomed to the weather that was more than rare in London. He felt the sun stroke his hair, and he was used to that.

What he wasn't used to, though, was the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He drowned the rest of the butterbeer in the hope that it would ease the swirling in there but nothing changed. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the window, letting his gaze wander over the Alley where bright sunbeams played with the boarded-up windows, and not one person thread on the weary cobbles of the street.

He had so much better things to do than to sit there and send enormous amounts of money to already rich people who weren't going to come and spend it, anyway. He could have been working for the Order, he knew he was capable of doing better than trying to convince a surly goblin to fight against Voldemort; especially if he was correct in his suspicions that this very goblin didn't know a word of English and only spoke Gobbledegook. Or he could be—

"Monsieur Weazley," a silent voice spoke from the door. "I houpe I'm noot interrupting?"

"Fleur…" he said, springing around and facing the woman. Yes, he could be—

"I was wondering if you've 'ad lunch already," she said, and her hair caught the rays of sun and lit up in a silvery glow.

"Fleur, I…" Bill said hesitantly, and his hand found its way into a pocket of his robes on an instinct. "You have no right to call me anything but Bill," he finally said, the colour of his ears turning into the usual bright red.

"'As the 'eat not been easy on you, Bill?" she asked, seeing him reddening, and walking finally into the office and up to his table with a slightly concerned face. Bill noticed that instead of the usual rough official robes they were required to wear she was dressed in something pale pink and fluttering.

"Pretty," he muttered before he could stop himself, and then blushed even more fiercely. His fingers had now found the small box in his pocket, and looking at the startlingly beautiful eyes gazing up at him he reprimanded himself for not having had the courage the previous night to do what he had intended to do then. He fumbled with the box and looked down at her.

"I was right," she smiled, touching her hand to his cheek. "You're 'ot."

"You're hot," Bill answered, still engulfed in her eyes.

"You're h-ot," Fleur repeated with a smile. "Hh-ot."

"No," Bill quickly shook his head, trying to clear the misunderstanding.

"No? Hh-ow then?" she asked, still looking as beautiful as a dream with her in it would.

"I mean… I wasn't trying to correct you…" he stuttered.

"But you should," Fleur reprimanded, but the faint colour advancing on her cheeks made it clear that she had understood what he meant. "I'm here to learn Eenglish, aren't I?"

"Yes," Bill said, and opened his mouth to continue, but no words came out. He closed it again, and then opened, and then closed. "Yes, you are," he finally said.

"And why are you here?" she asked, obviously knowing what Bill was trying to do. She looked at him with her head tilted to one side, and subdued all Veela power she had in her veins. "Why are you here?"

Bill closed his eyes. This was it. If he didn't do it now he wouldn't do it ever. He opened his eyes again, and saw Fleur in front of him, looking more breathtaking than ever. And he crouched down on his knees.

"Will you marry me, Miss Fleur Delacour? Will you be my wife forever?"

"Finally!" Fleur shouted, and flung herself on the floor into his arms.

"Weasley," a bored sullen voice came from the door from the goblin who had just stepped into the office with a pile of parchment in his hands, and was now looking the two humans with obvious interest.

Bill waved him off, trying to put the ring on Fleur's finger with just one hand, and failing.

The goblin still stood and watched.

Finally managing to put the ring on the right finger, Bill gave the goblin an angry look, willing him to leave. When the goblin still didn't show any intention of doing it, he decided that all in all it didn't matter whether the goblins sided with the Order or the Death Eaters.

"_Bladvak_!" he hissed to the goblin harshly, and when the disgruntled employee quickly ran out of the room, Bill leaned in on Fleur, their lips touching.

----------

**A/N:** In the course of this story I'll be pairing up all kinds of characters from the Harry Potter series. I have some others planned, already, but if anyone has a special wish whose proposal they want to read about, please let me know in your review, and I'll give it a thought!

All reviews are welcome!


	2. Lily and James

**Disclaimer: **Neither the Marauders nor Lily belong to me. I don't even have magic.**

* * *

**

**_Chapter 2 :Lily and James_**

"Will you… No, that's not right!" James shouted in frustration, walking circles in the small living room of Remus' house.

"Of course it's right!" Peter said from where he was perched up on a table, and watching his friend amusedly.

"Yes. Didn't you say yourself that you're meant to be together," Sirius piped in, trying to force down his laughter, but all the same slightly hiccupping on the couch where he was sprawled out.

"You know that I mean… The words aren't right!" James started, stopping in front of Sirius, and making the latter laugh even harder when seeing James' strained face.

"Leave him alone," Remus said, appearing from the kitchen with four butterbeers and throwing one at each of his friends. "I'd bet anything that you'll be just as nervous when you're about to propose."

"I'll never get married!" Sirius said joyfully.

"Neither will I," Peter added sadly.

"And why, if I may ask?" Remus said, sitting down in an armchair. "And you try to calm down!" he added to the blur of crimson robes flying past him.

"Because nobody would marry me," Peter replied as if it was some trivial thing everyone should know.

"Ah, don't worry, we're just eighteen, you're not required to marry someone you've met that early," Remus comforted him, then stretched out his leg and tripped the whirling blur, which was revealed to be James, now lying on his stomach on the floor, his fortunately unopened butterbeer bottle having disappeared under the wardrobe on the far side of the room. "I told you, calm down! Lily can't accept if she can't see you!"

"Now look what you did to my butterbeer!" James scolded, jumping up from the floor, only to stride quickly across the room and lie down on the floor again, his arm flung under the wardrobe and trying to snatch his bottle from there.

"And you, Sirius? You can't possibly worry about not being popular enough with women. Why won't you ever propose?" Remus asked, resuming the previous conversation.

"Because I don't want to get married to anyone!" Sirius replied, still as joyful as ever.

"Oh, and have you told Cathleen that?" Peter asked.

"What do you think?" Sirius asked back.

"That you haven't," Peter answered with conviction.

"You really think that?" Sirius asked again, his smirk saying almost audibly that of course he had told his girlfriend about his views on marriage.

"Yes, because I saw her at the Alley yesterday and she was looking at the bridal shop really wistfully," Remus said.

"Oh." Sirius' face fell for a moment, but he instantly found a way to avert his two friends' attention. "James!"

"What?" came from under the cupboard.

"_Accio_ butterbeer," Sirius said, and easily caught the bottle that flew to him after a small bounce on James' forehead. "Come out here and you'll get it!"

"It's not fair that you used the summoning charm," James said, wriggling out from under the wardrobe and snatching the bottle from Sirius. He opened it quickly with his teeth and took a swig.

"So, how will you propose?" Remus asked, having been in the kitchen during the time the others discussed the topic.

"I had mum charm the pavilion warm…" James started the description eagerly.

"About a thousand different charms, if I may say so, to make sure that it's just the temperature that Lily wants, and not too hot, and that the temperature changes outside would not matter inside," Sirius piped in, so that Remus and Peter burst out laughing, and James gave him an angry glare. "And Mrs. Potter was magically exhausted when I met her after that."

"Thank you, Sirius. Anyway, I have a bottle of red wine ready there…" James continued, only to be disrupted again by Sirius.

"Barolo Einaudi Piedmont 1965, if I remember correctly…" he said, wagging his eyebrows. Peter gave a whistle.

"Good vintage year," Remus commented, shaking his head at how his friend spent his money.

"Do you want to know or don't you?" James shouted.

"Of course we do," Peter quickly supplied, not knowing much about wines, anyway.

"But they don't!" James huffed, taking out the black jewellery box, opening it, and looking morosely down at the ring there.

"So, what else have you planned?" Remus asked, seeing his friend that moody, and trying not to give in to his urge to laugh loudly.

"Well," James took the bite, and in an instant was the cheeriest and most flamboyant person there could be, "then I have this German chocolate cake there…"

"Lily's favourite," Sirius added in a conspirators' whisper.

"And then there's this red rose in the crystal vase there," he said a bit more loudly.

"Dark red, great contrast with her eyes, and really beautiful with the pure white snow surrounding the pavilion," Sirius supplied.

"And then after we've had some wine and cake and listened to the music…" James' voice was growing louder and louder as he tried to suffocate Sirius' comments.

"Saint-Saëns, I suppose, he's Lily's favourite, though James can't stand him…" Sirius said and saw with joy that both Peter and Remus were convulsing with laughter.

"And then I'll drop on one knee, like that," James said, doing just that, first making sure he wasn't facing any of his friends, afraid of how they would laugh then, and therefore facing the merrily cracking fire, and offering the ring to the flames.

"I'll look up to her and say," James declared, closing his eyes to picture her and try not to listen to the hiccups and silent laughter from his friends. It wasn't too difficult — the picture of Lily was in front of his eyes almost all the time, and quite surprisingly all he heard was sudden silence, as if numerous people were holding their breaths.

"Will you marry me," he ended, and smiled victoriously, then a bit hesitantly, then turned around and faced his friends. "Is that okay? I think those words are too usual. She won't like that. I should say something else. Like… I don't know. You have any good ideas?"

"I think that worked pretty well," someone said from behind James, and he flipped around, only to see a sooty Lily step out of the fireplace with a broad grin on her face. "Just came to see whether James was here…" she explained to a baffled looking Remus. "And James, I think that any girl would be quite happy to hear those very words. And, to answer your question," she pecked him on the cheek lightly, "Of course I'll marry you."

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you liked it. I did. And if I get some REVIEWS I just might update... I have the next chapter finished already - Hermione and Draco! 


	3. Hermione and Draco

**Disclaimer**: The places and characters aren't mine. They belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Author's note:** I hope you won't be disappointed in this chapter. I personally was a bit... but... I just couldn't... ah, you'll see in the end. All angry reviews are welcome, as are the not angry ones, as always.

PS! The beginning is a bit angsty... I think I must have been in a really bad mood when I wrote that...

**

* * *

**

_**Chapter 3: Hermione and Draco**_

One day you just might understand that the world is not the right place for you.

It might not be a special day by any means, it might be pretty usual. The average soggy morning followed by a rainy afternoon; nothing special. The trees shedding their brownish-yellow leaves into the water below, nothing special. The usual day in early October when it would be called a Golden Autumn if only the sun shone, and the moist has not yet achieved the unfathomable measures it will in some weeks' time.

A usual day by any means. A hot and strong cup of coffee in the morning. Shower and make-up, just so that other people would not faint looking at you. Superficial smiles you give to everyone you meet, and you receive from them. The usual humming and buzzing around you where people indifferently discuss the sullen weather in the brightest words they can imagine, just so they can be sure of being friends with everyone, so that they can ask their help whenever needed.

One day you just might understand that the selfish approach of "Do you want to hire me?" has long ago turned to "Do you need me?", and from that it has been reduced to "Could you possibly, in any way, involve me..." And that is the day. Nothing special in any way.

For Hermione, this was the day.

As it was Saturday she wasn't having any lectures at the Healer Academy where she was studying, and therefore she was standing at the counter in a small robe shop, looking hopefully up at the attendant.

"I'm really sorry, Miss, but there's nothing we can do." The blonde witch in a mini-skirt tried so hard to make her smile seem apologetic instead of amusing as she leaned too low on the counter, making Hermione embarrassed at how revealing the top was. "You could come again in three weeks' time; we might have an opening then."

It looked as if the blonde barely managed to subdue her laughter when Hermione left the shop, tears in her eyes. Not knowing the implications, she dared to think the cursed thought — _this day can't get any worse…_

"Look what has dared to come out to the public," Malfoy snarled, noticing her stepping out of the building.

"Get lost before I tear you apart, limb by limb!" Hermione hissed menacingly, willing herself not to attack the politely amused blond.

"Hey-hey, someone's in a touchy mood today, aren't you?"

"I can TOLERATE," she screamed the last word, then let her voice drop back to the silent threat, "your presence at the Academy, but I will not let you RUIN," she screeched the last word again, "my weekends."

"I think you need something to cheer you up," Malfoy suggested with a smirk.

"I already AM cheerful!" Hermione answered as loudly as her voice allowed.

"Sure," Malfoy answered, then grabbed firmly her arm, and tore her after him. "You're coming with me."

Hermione hadn't expected that.

"Leave me alone," she said silently, not angry any more, just disappointed in the world in general. "Leave me alone so I can pity myself."

"Nope, you're coming with me," Draco answered, and she obediently followed him down the Alley.

After some minutes of silent walking, their feet muddy now and their cloaks soaked, Hermione dared to open her mouth again.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," was the answer, and nothing more.

They walked some more time in silence, until Draco stopped in front of Gringotts. Hermione gave him a suspecting look.

"You brought me to the bank?"

"Yeah," Malfoy answered with a smile, and not a smirk.

"You say you're going to cheer me up, and for that you take me to the bank?"

"Exactly," Malfoy replied, and made his way up the stairs and into the huge building, all the while keeping a firm hold on Hermione's arm.

"You must be really daft!" Hermione said angrily.

"Why?" was the still polite reply.

"Because you don't understand that it isn't money that makes people happy! After all you've been through, you still don't see that being face to face with piles of gold is not the way to lighten somebody's mood!"

"Then, if that's what you think," Draco said, still as politely as ever, "then you're daft."

"What?" Hermione was beyond surprised.

"Come with me," Draco just said, and led her to a counter.

"To room 817. The exquisite cart," Malfoy told the goblin there, and soon a baffled Hermione was sitting next to her all-time enemy in a coach-like cart with squashy seats and green embroidered pillows. The goblin didn't even come into the cart; he stood next to it, and tapped it with his finger, saying,

"You've got five minutes at the vault before the cart returns."

And in a moment they took off, at such speed that Hermione felt her insides had been left behind. The cart flew down into valleys and up onto the peaks of the tunnels, taking such wild turns that Hermione couldn't but squeal in fright and delight. Wind brushed into her face, and she felt her hair flowing loose behind her. At one especially steep slope she couldn't but grab hold around Draco, completely forgetting who he was.

When they came to the stop in front of number 817, she released him quickly, blushing.

"Sorry, it was frightening," she murmured.

Draco didn't say anything for some time, just sat there next to her, immobile.

"Why aren't you going to your vault?" Hermione finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"I didn't come here for that. And I think we should turn around, unless you want to do the return ride backwards."

"What do you mean? Why did you come then? There is no other reason to coming to the bank besides changing currency or visiting your vault, is there!" she laughed, slapping him merrily on his hand, but they both stood up and sat on the other seat of the cart, now facing the way they had come.

"I came here to cheer you up. Those rides always do that to me," was the quiet answer, and with a jolt Hermione realised she really wasn't feeling as bad as she had felt before.

"I… Thank you," she said, looking him straight in his eye.

At that moment the cart took off with a small jump, once more, and this time both of them were squealing at every turn, and screaming just out of happiness and the excitement the speed gave them. They were back with the goblin before Hermione had grown tired of the ride.

"Thank you, thank you so much!" Hermione said, hugging Draco, this time in all earnest. "Now I can do it whenever I feel down, and I'll always be thinking about you at those times!"

"Will you marry me?" Malfoy suddenly said out of the blue, still in Hermione's embrace.

Hermione let go so quickly as if someone had let a jolt of electricity through Draco.

"What?"

"Will you marry me?"

"No! What gave you the idea! It was just a friendly hug, nothing serious!"

"Well… it seemed to me that you just said that you'll repeat this ride whenever you're feeling down, but this cart, and the unaccompanied ride, and the breathtaking speed, they're only available to the members of some… certain… families…" He finished nervously, reprimanding himself for whatever it had been that made him start the sentence in the first place.

"Oh," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Draco said.

"So, I suppose I won't be repeating it, then. I'm sorry."

"I suppose I am, too," Draco replied, giving Hermione his hand to shake.

Hermione took it.

"Friends?" she asked with a wistful smile.

"Friends," Draco said, seemingly in more of his element now, because the smirk was reappearing on his lips. "But don't you imagine that this means I'll let you use me so you could go on mushy rides on that with the Weasel, don't you imagine that!"

* * *

**Author's note** (again): OK. You were disappointed, weren't you? I know you were. I was, too. So, leave me a review to let me know what exactly you thought. 

Next chapter (I'll post it when I'm in a good mood thanks to all those reviews you are going to post), will be about Narcissa and Lucius.

And one more thing - There's a story, C**hess**, that I suggest you read! Half of it's really good (and the other half's written by me). You can find the link to it in my profile!


	4. Narcissa and Lucius

**Disclaimer**: Malfoy Senior and his soon to be wife belong to each other, and in addition to that they belong to J.K. Rowling. I even don't want to own them...

_**

* * *

Chapter 4: Narcissa and Lucius **_

She sat down in the armchair in the drawing room at her aunt's house, making sure that her robes weren't wrinkled, and that her hairdo hadn't been ruined with the walk. They had decided on a neutral ground for tonight's appointment, and this room was certainly one of the smartest in all the family mansions, both hers and his.

She twirled the glass of wine between her fingers. She only ever drank white wine, as the whole world knew; or at least the part of the whole world that mattered. All in all her light silvery blue robes, blonde hair, and pale complexion made her almost melt into the pearly white and creamy beige colours of the room. She entertained a hope that maybe he wouldn't notice her upon entering, therefore making a fool out of himself.

She enjoyed laughing at other people, especially when there was a chance that they didn't take it as a joke and actually felt insulted. Because she liked it when people felt insulted; it gave her a feeling of power that even that of money couldn't rival.

She saw him the very moment he entered. Just like her, he was clad in silver robes, his having a tint of green in them. Her gaze wandered over him at the first possible chance, noticing even the smallest details of his demure, because knowledge is power.

With surprise she saw that he had the family mace with him, the golden staff that was passed down to the oldest son of the family, signifying their power and purity. It was something that had to be present at any event that would influence the life of the main male line of the family. And if he had it with him it could only mean he was there to propose marriage to her.

"My lady," he said, walking over to where she was sitting and touching his lips to her gloved hand lightly.

"Lucius, I'm pleased you came."

"So am I," Lucius said, sitting down at the table across from Narcissa.

"Kreacher!" she ordered with a flip of her fingers, and the house elf appeared with another glass, and a bottle of wine.

Lucius sat in the chair without any indication that he had noticed another living being in the room. But only when the house elf had disappeared again did he get to the business.

"I'm sure you know why I've asked for this appointment," he said politely.

"I'm convinced you'd rather tell me the reason personally."

"I want you to sign a contract with me," Lucius said carefully, sipping his wine and looking at her in mild amusement, probably not quite convinced she had understood his reason for coming, after all. He shifted in his chair so that the light reflected from the gilded surface of the mace.

"I'd rather you acknowledged my attentiveness more," Narcissa smiled.

"I'd never underestimate you."

They drank their wine in silence for a while, letting the golden sunbeams coming from the window with artificial summer weather painted on it make the bright room glow and glitter. Sitting there it was almost possible to forget all about the icy January weather outside, and the forecast of a heavy snowstorm.

"Have you discussed it with my parents yet?" Narcissa asked, putting her still almost full glass of wine back on the table.

"No. I thought I should first ask for your assent on the matter."

Silence was restored for a while as the rays of gold lit up the pale faces and light robes.

"Have you decided on a date yet?" Narcissa probed further.

"Easter, if you're not against rushing with it, of course."

"You have my acceptance. Mr. Black can accept your audience tomorrow at tea." Narcissa took her goblet with unexplainable finality to her movement, and took a barely noticeable sip.

"The Engagement Party shall be organised at the Malfoy Manor before the end of the month." Lucius, contrarily to his companion, drowned the wine in another gulp, and rose to leave.

"I'll be meeting you tomorrow after tea," he lightly brushed against her hand with his lips again, that very gesture being their only bodily touch throughout the visit.

"Mr. Malfoy," Narcissa acknowledged his leave with a slight tilting of her head.

When he had left the room and the door had closed behind his back, Narcissa was still sitting in the same chair, twirling the goblet between her fingers. A sly smile was playing on her lips, and all in all she seemed happier than she had ever been.

* * *

**A/N**: Well, this is it. I hope you liked it. A bit dry, yes, but that's how it's supposed to be. And, to make it a bit less dry, notice that I added some snow into it (I can't write anything right now wothout including snow. Ridiculous, I know, but this weather here is not natural in the middle of December). Anyway, leave me a **review** if you like snow, too!

Next chapter, Ginny and Harry, will be up soon.


	5. Ginny and Harry

**Disclaimer:** Ginny and Harry don't belong to me.

**A/N:** WARNING! Character death in this chapter. Maybe some angst, too. If you're afraid of those, don't read!

_**

* * *

** _

**Chapter 5: Ginny and Harry**

Harry staggered on his feet, and felt the wand drop from his fingers. He didn't know what he had done, he didn't know how he had done it. All he knew was that it was over now. Finally.

Everything was quiet. Boundless silence engulfed him as he let his eyes wander over the slopes surrounding him, looking for his first and worst concern. When he noticed her he ran quickly there, paying no attention to the fact that his feet would much more have wanted him to collapse.

"Ginny! Dear Merlin, Ginny!" he despaired, kneeling on the ground next to her.

"Harry," she muttered back, so quietly that he wouldn't have heard it even in this silence had he not been bowing so low over her.

"Oh Ginny! It's all over! I'll take care of you. Just stay here on the ground, don't try to open your eyes," he quickly commanded in whisper, stroking her muddy hair and bloody cheeks.

Ginny opened her eyes.

"You look awful," she commented on Harry with a painful smile.

"I'm far better off than you. Don't strain yourself," he said as he felt a faint sting when a salty tear crossed its path with a bleeding wound on his cheekbone.

"Harry, I…"

"Ginny, don't talk! We'll be alright, I know we'll be alright in the end," Harry stopped her quickly, his one hand still buried in her hair, the other fervently searching his pockets. He knew he had put it there, it had to be there, he couldn't have lost it! Could he?

"Your chin is glowing blue," Ginny said in a severe voice, as if it was common for humans to make the mistake to start glowing in strange colours sometimes. "Or, actually, it's more like navy…" Ginny sighed, her eyes slowly dropping closed.

But Harry couldn't find what he was looking for. He felt Ginny's fragile body shake in slight tremors, and quickened his search. In last despair his wandering fingers found a wand; not his own, but he couldn't have cared less. He took his other hand out of Ginny's hair and grabbed a twig from the ground beside her. A moment later he was holding a glistening golden ring with a watery white diamond in the middle.

"Ginny, will you marry me?" he whispered, taking gently hold of her shoulder.

She didn't open her eyes, just sighed heavily.

"Ginny, look at me!" he pleaded, shaking her tenderly. "Will you marry me?"

Ginny sighed again, and then opened her eyes with what seemed to be extreme difficulty.

"No, Harry," she whispered almost inaudibly. "I would, but I won't."

"Please Ginny! Marry me!" Harry said.

"No," was the hushed answer.

"Ginny! Tell me you love me and you want too marry me!" He was close to despair now.

"Yes, Harry, I'd love to marry you," Ginny said, a barely noticeable smile caressing her lips for a moment.

Harry quickly grabbed her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. The hand was heavy and numb.

"Bring it closer to me," Ginny whispered, and Harry stole a quick kiss on the hand before holding it up in front of Ginny's eyes.

"What do you think?" he asked silently, bowing over to kiss her cheek.

"It's magic," she whispered and smiled again before another tremor ran through her body.

When Harry straightened up again and looked into her eyes they were glazed over already. Harry let go of her hand and saw it drop to the ground beside her as if in slow motion. Fighting against his protesting limbs, protesting emotions, and protesting will, he heaved himself up and staggered back to where he had fought. Once there, he dropped to the ground, not concerned about the mud and sharp pebbles. He crawled around there until he found it.

About a week later he was standing next to her, holding her lifeless hand again. There were hordes of people around them, but no one saw them, water barring their view. But Harry's eyes were dry; had been since the sting of the teardrop out on the field. He silently kissed her lips, removing the ring from her finger.

As soon as contact between the dead woman and the ring ceased, it turned back into a twig. Harry didn't even flinch. He gently placed the small branch into the coffin next to Ginny, and then slipped the real ring onto her finger slowly. He tenderly ran his fingers through the hair, now clean and spread around the prone body of the woman.

* * *

**A/N:** If you don't review, I might kill the next characters, too, even before they get to the proposing... But if you do review, then you can look forward to the next chater - Merope and Tom! 


	6. Merope and Tom

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately, I don't know...

**

* * *

_Chapter 6: Merope and Tom_**

Merope quickly strode between the trees. She was sure her father didn't know what she was doing, where she was doing it, and what she was doing it for. And she was just as convinced that had his father known he wouldn't have cared because he would have thought she couldn't manage doing it anyway.

Merope knew the woods here quite well, now. At first, when she had begun about two months ago, she hadn't known anything about her surroundings. She had just started out in a random direction that she thought led to the heart of the forest, and ended up on the main road between Great Hangleton and Little Hangleton. Next time she had gone in another direction and walked for hours through the forest, not seeing any people or signs of human activity. This time she had got lost, and ended up at her home cottage only the next morning, to come face to face with the greeting of a really worried and caring father ("Don't you understand that brainless little idiots like you shouldn't go wandering around! I'm starved!").

But that hadn't stopped her. She was used to all the insults and physical means her father would use against her, and they failed to affect her now. She had found a suitable small clearing in the middle of a thicket, and tried conjuring up a shelter there, but after some failed attempts had resorted to building one with her own hands. And this is where she came to work on her magic.

If her father said that she was a squib, then she was almost ready to concur when only spells and transfiguration where concerned. But her knowledge of herbs and potions surpassed her father's by far; probably that's why he never included those two sciences as magical. She knew that given enough time and strength she could boil up anything, even if she only had the local herbs, and maybe some odd relics of olden times she had found on the shelves at home, to use.

Now there was a firm path leading to her shelter; so many times had she walked that road that she didn't even worry about being followed. But father had now grown accustomed to her leaves, and he didn't mind as long as she left his food out on the table for him. Merope knew that this day would be the last time she would visit the shelter, for the potion was ready, and she had everything planned out.

Merope carefully scooped out the potion, filling the dozen small vials she had brought with her. She hadn't felt that happy since the day that Morfin had been taken away. With a careless thump she turned the cauldron over and let the remains of the potion soak the ground in the clearing. Then, cleaning the bottom up with a broad leaf she had found somewhere, she hid the cauldron in the thicket and returned home.

With extreme care she dressed herself in her best robe — the shabby and faded one, not the torn and bleached one she wore usually. Then she took a jug of water, and emptied one whole vial of potion into it. She watched longingly as the purplish red chords of magic slowly dissolved in the water, leaving it as transparent as it had been before. She took the silver knife she used at potion making out of the hidden pocket of her robe, and with a swift motion she cut into her hand, not even flinching at the pain.

One drop of blood ran into the jug, making the water there sizzle slightly for a moment, and then everything calmed down again. Merope took a napkin and let some more blood flow into it, until it was completely drenched. And before she could notice she was at the main road, waiting for him to come home from his afternoon ride.

And much sooner than she dared to hope she heard the sound of approaching hooves. She got ready in her hiding-place. When the rider was close to passing her she suddenly jumped out, flaying the bloody handkerchief towards them, at which the horse started to snort, and without much ado flung the rider from the saddle, just as expected.

Merope quickly hid the napkin and ran over to the man of her dreams.

"Dear lord! I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to frighten your horse, sir! If there's anything I can do…" she quickly babbled, looking distort and worried.

Tom straightened up from the ground, sitting now, brushing the mud off his cloak and feeling his limbs for any injuries.

"I was just running to the road, and I didn't mean to…" Merope still continued.

Tom tired to push the importunate brute away from him and stand up, but it seemed that he had hurt his leg on the fall, so he lost his balance when standing up, and fell down again, almost grabbing hold of Merope, but realising that he didn't want to touch her a moment before he did.

Merope quickly kneeled down next to him, and brought out the jug which she had kept hidden somewhere all this time.

"Here, sir, take a sip of this, it'll help," she said, almost forcing the jug into his hands, and tilting it over his mouth so he had to swallow some. Against her expectation, though, it seemed that Mr. Riddle was rather thirsty, he drained most of the jug before thrusting it back at Merope.

For a moment more Merope saw hate and repulse in his eyes, but then it was replaced with sudden confusion, but in a second or so even that vanished, and the man looked at her with gratitude and love.

"Miss…" Tom started.

"Gaunt, Merope Gaunt," she answered, averting her eyes and blushing slightly.

Tom smiled.

"Thank you for the water. I feel much better now. And don't blame yourself; I should have been more careful when riding," he smiled and put his hand on her cheek to force her to look back at him. "Now would you, please, help me get back in the saddle, so I can return home?"

"Why do you have to return so soon?" Merope asked, trying to find out how far the tentacles of the potion reached.

"I have to return because," Tom started, and then halted, a momentary look of confusion flickering over his features. "Because I'm getting married tomorrow," he finally finished. "And you're coming with me, aren't you!"

"No, why should I?" Merope asked, this time not understanding herself what was going on.

"Because I'm getting married to you, of course!" Tom laughed, limping with her help to the horse, and leaning on it for a moment. "Aren't I?"

"No, you're not," Merope said, a tear slipping out of her eye. "You're getting married to Miss Wellby…"

"Why?" Tom asked, staring at the teardrop on her cheek. "Why am I marrying her if I love you?"

Merope didn't answer.

"Then it's decided!" Tom chirped, heaving himself on the horse with barely the strength of his hands. "I won't marry her. She's off. I'm marrying you, and tomorrow. And you're coming with me!"

He gave Merope a hand and flung her up to the saddle in front of him. Merope smiled, as she felt him take a firm hold of her, and ushering the horse into a pace. She felt the eleven bottles of potion in the inner pocket, and felt completely happy for the first time in her life. The jug lay forgotten on the lane, the blood-drenched handkerchief thrown into the hedge.

But her boundless happiness was short-lived. As she felt Tom urge the horse to a stride, the first thought of regret in forcing him to her crossed her mind. _I shouldn't have put the whole vial in there,_ she thought, amazed at how sudden the change in her life was, and riding forward to her wedding in the arms of the only man she ever loved.

* * *

**Author's note:** Reviews make me happy. And in addition to that they give you the wonderful chance to suggest some pairings that you would like to read about. Like the next chapter - Dolores and Ron - which was suggested by Heptagon.


	7. Dolores and Ron

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Do you?

**Author's note:** The pairing of this chapter was suggested by Heptagon. Thank her (or blame her...)

* * *

_**Chapter 7: Dolores and Ron**_

It was ridiculous, everyone would admit that. And even he did.

He was the best Auror the Ministry had. Well, that was if you didn't count Harry, but as Harry usually didn't like to be counted it was all right. Harry wasn't an Auror either, _per se_, he was just the guy everyone would turn to if there were extremely dangerous situations ahead, and the guy who would always come and help them out then, no matter how much he grumbled in the process.

So, he was the best Auror the Ministry had. For the past few years he had fought the most skilled Death Eaters almost on daily bases. All right, maybe not on daily bases now, but a small exaggeration doesn't hurt. He definitely would still fight them all the time if there were enough of them left. And he had always defeated them, one hundred percent (maybe that's another small exaggeration, but that is only human), so he should have been competent in other areas of life, too. Or at least in other areas of magic.

But, as it came out, he wasn't.

It was just his luck that the only thing he got for his respected status at the Ministry was this silly accident being hyped up, so that instead of the usual procedure where the Magic Reversal Squad would take care of accidents like that, his case was to be handled through the Cabinet.

So here he was, standing in the ante-chamber of the Minister's office, leaning on the wall with the side of his missing arm, hoping that no one would notice (at least none of those people who hadn't heard of it, yet). To make things worse, everyone knew that the Minister was on a visit to some small and pointless country somewhere whose population of wizards was only about a couple hundred, and Ron's worst worry was that he might end up with Percy as the one to document his mistake and take care of the consequences.

In addition to that, he really hoped that Hermione was taking good care of his arm. Especially in hiding it. He definitely had put the few locks of Hermione's hair that had come with him safely in the chest pocket of his robes. It would be a horror if the press found out how hopeless their great hero-Auror was at Apparition.

The door to the Minister's office finally opened, and Ron saw something short and pink and fluffy stepping out.

He quickly re-evaluated his situation. All right, Percy wouldn't be that bad.

"Mr. Weasley," Umbridge smiled, forgetting to add her usual cough to the sentence. "Mr. _Percy_ Weasley has been assigned to take care of your situation." She smiled again.

_Huh. Thank Merlin, and Dumbledore, and Potter_. Ron almost smiled in relief.

"But as his senior official I sent him to take care of your friend, who I'm sure is the one to blame for this unfortunate mistake, and I'll be handling your part of the paperwork myself. Come in."

And all this time she didn't fake coughing even once.

Ron followed the human toad into the office, and almost staggered back out when he saw what it looked like.

There were cushions everywhere. And not just plain usual homey cushions; the colour of those ranged from bright pink to soft velvety light red, and most of them had embroidered ducklings on them (two on each, with their beaks so close to the other as could be, and a podgy red heart springing out from there). The desk was covered with a tablecloth just as pink as the rest of the room, a couple of knitted doilies thrown on it for effect.

"Sit down," she said in the most girlish voice possible, indicating to a pink couch which was almost unnoticeable due to the curtains hung over all the walls of the office, therefore efficiently blocking all view the portraits would have. (Ron couldn't but think that the portraits must have been really happy not to see.)

He took a quick half-step out, and meant to close the door and run for it, only then remembering he was missing the particular hand he wanted to use for closing the door.

"Hem-hem!"

Ah, here it was.

"Make yourself at home!" she insisted with an overly sweet smile, grabbing hold of his remaining hand and pulling him into the room. The door closed on its own volition, and the resounding click made Ron wonder whether he would risk leaving his other arm, too, if it meant the rest of him would have Apparated out of the room.

Umbridge clung to his hand almost violently as he was thrown into the sofa, and a moment later almost suffocated by Umbridge following him there. Ron had all kinds of sentences going through his head at that moment (and at a quite high level of voice), starting with long ones like "If you don't get away from me this instant, you fat filthy toad, I'll curse you, even though my wand is probably in my hand somewhere near Hogsmeade!" to the much shorter "Help! Can somebody hear me? Help!" to the minimal and desperate "PINK!"

But, he was still a polite Ministry employee at audience with his superior.

"When is the Minister returning?" he asked, trying to block his eyes from seeing anything of the offending colour, and hoping the answer would be something like _"In two minutes."_

He wasn't as lucky.

"Next Friday. We have ample time." And short stubby fingers were placed on his armless shoulder.

Ron gulped.

"I hope I can sign the papers with my left hand, Ms. Umbridge?" he said, trying to slip out of her embrace, and towards the desk, as he willed his brain not to notice its appearance.

"You may call me Dolly," Umbridge said.

Ron squeaked, and started wriggling to get away.

Umbridge seemed not to pay much attention to it, though. She was telling him something, but as he didn't want to hear it, he just didn't listen. He was in enough trouble trying to work his way out from the squashy sofa that he was pressed into with only the help of one arm.

"Hem, hem," he heard her say some time into the struggle. He didn't give in.

"Hem, hem!" This came a bit more forcefully.

"I'd rather you sat calmly." A pink smile followed it. "You have some signing to do."

"Finally!" Ron bellowed out, then blushed as red as the rest of the room was, and stopped fighting.

'Dolly' had in the meantime pulled out a roll of parchment, which was infuriatingly pink and had vines and flowers and hearts and doves drawn on its edges. Ron almost tore it to pieces as he grabbed it from her, jumped up from the couch, ran to the desk, took a quill from there, and dipped it in a pot of ink (red, naturally). Quickly he scribbled _Weasley_ in the gap that was meant for his last name.

Only when he had already placed the tip of the quill in the gap that read 'First (and middle) name(s)' did he notice the title on the top of the parchment.

"_Biding Magical Contract — Magical Marriage_. What does that mean?"

"You signed it?" she almost shouted in glee, her eyes bulging in eagerness.

The door flew open and a familiar red head popped in.

"Did I hear you right? He signed?" Percy asked, his cheeks flushed in excitement.

Ron shot a look at both of the others, then gazed back at the gap where his hand had already started to draw his name. Without a second thought he wrote down _Percy Ignatius_ as the 'first name', and then jumped back when the parchment glowed bright red in his hands.

Making sure that nobody was holding onto him, he turned on the spot, Disapparating from the Minister's office.

* * *

**Author's note**: This settles it; I'm completely mad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for the chapter to take this direction, but it just did... Sorry.

Oh, and REVIEW!


	8. Hermione and Ron

**Disclaimer:**Don't own them

**Author's note:** I apologise for having been absent for so long... But some really importantthings happened between the last time I updated, and now. First and foremost, Christmas needed to be celebrated. And then the New Year. And besides, I really didn't have enough ideas for this chapter.

But now it's ready and waiting for you to read it (and review it!)

**

* * *

**

_**Chapter 8: Hermione and Ron**_

Ron was sitting on the edge of a chair in the kitchen of the Burrow, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of his robes, and carefully watching Hermione who was clutching a hot cup of tea and reading an ancient-looking leather-bound book.

"Erm… What would you say if Fleur and my Mum came running in here right now and started congratulating you?" he asked, his ears as red as they get.

"What?" Hermione looked up. "Sorry, what did you say? I didn't catch it, I was reading… I mean, this might really be what I've been looking for this whole time!" she said, giving the book a caressing touch.

"Oh… I just—"

But at that moment the door banged open and a mass of silvery hair flew in, shrieking. Ron slipped quickly under the table.

"Congratulations! I'm so happy for you, for the both of you!" Fleur chirped, hugging Hermione from behind.

"Oh, I can't say I haven't been expecting it for years and years now, since the two of you met…" Molly had tears in her eyes as she wrapped her hands around the frazzled Hermione.

"What—?" she started, but Fleur was quicker.

"If you need any help with organizing, don't fear to ask! It would be a pleasure and an honour," she smiled.

"If only Ginny were here, she'd be so happy," Molly said, tightening her hold around her.

"What—?" Hermione tried again, but was cut off.

"You could use the Burrow, certainly, but I suppose we don't have enough room here," Molly said, releasing her grip on Hermione a little.

"I'm sure Harry would let you do it in Godric's Hollow," Fleur supplied, "because you'll surely need a lot of room."

_Oh, they're talking about the potion,_ Hermione caught on. She blushed slightly, happy that the results of her research mattered so much to those she considered her family. "I need to browse through some other books before I can start thinking about anything further," she said modestly.

"Sure, I can give you those I bought when I needed them," Fleur said, and turned to the door, starting off towards her room.

"Oh, my dear daughter!" Molly fell on her again, still in tears.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Fleur appeared back into the kitchen, beaming. "You didn't even show us…" She had run over to Hermione and lifted her hand up from where she had let it drop onto the book.

"See? Second paragraph, page 874," Hermione said, smiling.

"Erm…Mum?" Fleur said in a horrified voice, still holding up Hermione's hand.

"What?" Molly let go of her. "Oh… ooh…" She brushed away her tears and coughed awkwardly.

"And I think it's a good idea to start with a large batch for I know the beginning of brewing it, and then I can just separate it into different cauldrons and try different things with it, so that there wouldn't be any question whether the beginning was exactly the same in all cases. And it's a great idea to ask Harry whether he'd lend me his lab. I doubt he uses it much, anyway…"

"Erm… What are you talking about, dear?" Molly asked after some time of motionless staring.

"The potion, of course," Hermione said, and then heard the uncomfortable silence behind her and the nervous breathing from under the table. "What are you taking about?" she asked carefully.

"Oh," the two older women exchanged a quick nervous look. "Nothing, nothing. We'll just leave you be, now," Molly said, ushering Fleur silently out.

"By the way, where's Ron?" Fleur asked before leaving.

"Under the ta—" Hermione halted in her answer, almost feeling the thoughts rallying through her mind, "—ble. Explain!" she finished as the click of the door made sure they were alone.

A beet red Ron clambered out, retreating into the far corner of the room.

"Well, you see…" he said, and then bit his lip.

"Yes?" prompted Hermione when nothing more came out of him.

"Oh well… I might have said something to Harry in the strictest confidence… and then he might have let it slip to his secretary at work. And she's good friends with Alicia, so she told her. And Alicia told Katie, and then to Fred and George. And Lee. And Lee told Angelina, and I think she let it slip at St. Mungo's. And Fred and George got too loud, so that Bill and Charlie heard them. And dad, too. And then…"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, cutting him off. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Erm…Well, you see," he said, staring at his fingers that had turned just as red as his hair and cheeks. "I had it planned for last night, but I think I put it somewhere safe, only now I can't remember where this safe place might have been, so that's why I was late last night. And so I couldn't… But Mum and Fleur didn't know that and… you see."

"Ron, you still haven't answered my question!" Hermione demanded, now standing just in front of him with a frown on her face.

"Oh," Ron said, and stared down at her. Then he seemed to come to a decision, for suddenly his ears turned even redder than they had been before, and he fell down on one knee.

"Hermione, I love you, and I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me, though I haven't got a ring right now to give to you? I promise you'll get it once I find it again…" he looked up hopefully.

Hermione studied him for some time, as if her brain hadn't yet managed to understand what he had said. Ron stood up slowly, disappointment evident in his eyes. Then Hermione shook her shoulders, blinked, and smiled.

"Yes, of course!" she said, and hugged him with all her might, and then let go again.

They stood face to face, both beaming now. Suddenly Hermione shrieked in joy, and without letting her voice drop flung herself into his arms again.

-----

Fleur and Molly stood in silence on the second landing of the Burrow, both pretending to be busy with dusting. Suddenly a shriek of happiness ringed through the house. They looked at each other, and sighed.

"I was afraid," Fleur confessed.

Molly nodded. "I was almost ready to take revenge on Ron by turning all of his clothes maroon."

The shriek faded for a moment, only to start again in renewed force a second later.

"Should we… could we?" Fleur asked.

"It wouldn't hurt," Molly conceded. And they took off running towards the kitchen. In less than a moment they were at the door, and flinging it open.

"Congratulations!" Fleur chirped, smiling all over and joining the hugging couple in the kitchen. "I'm so happy for you, for the both of you!"

Molly was just behind her, tears in her eyes again. "Oh, I can't say I haven't been expecting it for years and years now, since the two of you met…"

* * *

**Another autor's note: **I love reviews. And you know you love to review, don't you?

And next chapter will be on Rowena and Salazar.


	9. Rowena and Salazar

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that you recognize as belonging to someone else.

* * *

**_Chapter 9: Rowena and Salazar_**

This night they wanted to be alone. It wasn't too difficult to arrange, though; the castle was enormous. She was sure they hadn't made it this large in the beginning. There were places here she didn't know about, places she had never seen. Of course, someone else might have designed them; not Godric — he wouldn't have managed to keep quiet about that the next morning, he liked to brag with his accomplishments; and not Helga — she most certainly would have asked their consent before doing anything. So it could have been Salazar.

She doubted it, though. Building the castle had created a new kind of magic, different from all that they had, different than she had ever seen anywhere. And this magic was inside the very walls of the building. In the end it was the castle itself that decided what it was, how, and where.

Rowena leaned her hand on Salazar's arm gently, letting him lead her.

"I discovered this yesterday when I was roaming the halls to find a suitable place for tonight," he said, walking her down the corridor where the kitchens were, until they got to a blank canvas on the wall at the end of the hall. "Milady," he said.

Rowena thought this was said to her, but so did the canvas, for it swung open, leaving behind an arched stairway leading upwards to a dimly lit room. Entering the room her senses were greeted by the sweet scent of honey mixed with the slightly sharp one of burning maple from the fireplace. A few roses that surely must have come from Helga's greenhouses were woven into a bouquet and looked even redder and livelier than they would have with the flickering candles around them. The table was set for two.

"Salazar, you shouldn't have…" Rowena said, smiling as he pulled out a chair for her. She was seated so that she could see the window — the frozen forest and the silent snowfall outside made chills of pleasure run down her spine, probably just as Salazar had hoped.

"I did nothing," he answered with a half-smile, sitting down in the other seat, and making a dinner appear on the table. "_Bon appetit_," he said.

They ate in silence. Only the clicking of their metal tableware was heard, with the occasional dripping of wax from the candles, cracking of flames in the fireplace, or gust of wind rattling with the windowpanes and howling in the chimney.

Rowena put down her goblet, and felt it approaching. Salazar had finished eating, too, and was studying her silently over the candles and the roses. Suddenly the set-up in the room seemed exaggerated. In a moment she would find out why he had asked her here…

"You know that Helga is like a sister to me," he said finally.

"And Godric like a favourite brother, yes," Rowena added, but Salazar looked away and didn't answer.

After a moment of the crackling and dripping and howling of their surroundings he continued.

"You could never be my sister," the half-smile was on his lips again. "You are so much more!" He jumped up from his chair, and started pacing the room, now looking more like Godric on his usual days, not like the reserved and calm Salazar she knew. "You're smart and beautiful and fair and… You're the best there could be!"

Rowena blushed a little, though she had heard him say that to her many times already.

"And I want to marry you," he finished.

"And you know that you can't," she added, sad now. They had talked it all over for even more times.

"No, I can," he replied, sitting down again.

"Don't be ridiculous, Salazar," Rowena reprimanded. "The wavelengths of our magic would resonate, it would not only break our possible offspring; it would also break us. And the school can't afford to lose two of its founders due to their own stupidity. And you know that I have studied it more than I would consider healthy; and I have found no way to get past this, besides letting someone bind our magic. And we're not worth this."

"I know it all," Salazar replied. "And I know our lines must continue, so that there would be someone to care for the castle when we're gone."

Rowena didn't want to correct him, but she knew the castle could take care of itself without their help.

"I'm sure you heard about my latest argument with Godric," Salazar suddenly changed the subject. Rowena was not grateful.

"Yes," she said silently. "About admitting Muggleborns… Why would you think that? I mean, my parents weren't magical," she asked in earnest.

"That's why! The kinds of magic they use are different! It could destroy the wizardkind. We can't even…" his voice broke and he didn't finish the sentence.

They sat in silence for a little while, both thinking their own thoughts. Rowena was too frightened to even suggest the possibility that perhaps their magical resonance had nothing to do with their parentage.

"I'm leaving the castle," Salazar finally said.

"Yes, Godric said you would."

"Not for that reason. I'm going to find some Muggle woman and have some children. And then, when it's done, I'll return to you," he said as if it was the most logical and normal thing to do. "I suggest you find some old grey-beard to father some children for you, too," he said, "so that you would be free when I come back."

Rowena didn't answer. She couldn't tell him how much different her views on the subject were.

"I have something for you," he said, getting up from his seat and pulling a thin silver chain from his breast pocket. A small ring was hanging from it. "Consider it an engagement ring."

She let him slid it around her neck, still motionless, still saying nothing. He touched his warm and gentle fingers to it and whispered something, and Rowena felt the hot wave of magic flow over her, making the chain irremovable and unnoticeable for anyone but her.

"One day I will return," he said, and before Rowena could turn around, he had disappeared down the stairs.

She remained sitting there, the candles burning, the snow falling, the fire crackling, and the roses emitting this intoxicating sweet smell. She sat until she felt the magic of the castle shivering and altering. And then she knew he was gone. She had nothing more to do in this room.

As the canvas closed behind her, she looked at it again, only to find it wasn't empty any more. There was their room painted on it by the soft brush of the castle's magic. She was sitting there, alone, facing the emptiness of the dimly lit room. Salazar's seat was empty.

She knew, and the castle knew. He was never coming back.

* * *

**Author's note:** I hope you liked this chapter. It'll not be the last one, but as this is not exactly one story, I've decided to change the status into complete. It won't change anything, though, I'll still be updating as fast as I manage, which at current speed would be once in every three days. I hope that's okay with everyone.

And, please, REVIEW. Reviews are nice.

Next chapter (I'll post it on the 10th) will be on Molly and Arthur.


	10. Molly and Arthur

**Disclaimer:** The Weasleys and the Prewetts are not mine. And neither is St. Mungo's Hospital. Nor the colour lime green.

* * *

_**Chapter 10: Molly and Arthur**_

"Mummy! Mummy, are you alright?"

Little Bill Weasley ran into the Hospital room as fast as his three years old legs could carry him. His mother was plopped up in a bed on some ghastly looking lime green pillows, the same colour as almost everything else in the room. First coherent thought he ever remembered having was that if he was forced to spend a long time in there, like twenty minutes or so, he would certainly go crazy.

Bill had spent a lot of time in the less green rooms of the hospital, having been left there for long periods of time with Uncle Edgar, who was a friend of his father's and a Mediwizard, while her parents were at their respective jobs, leaving home for secret outings for the tall old white-bearded wizard, or not-so-secret outings to the small Muggle café in Ottery St. Catchpole.

This time they had been out for white-beard again, and for the first time his mother had sustained so severe injuries as to send her to a Hospital bed.

"I'm alright honey," Molly smiled as Bill flew into her arms and Arthur stepped out of the way of the comet with an amused face. Molly's brothers Fabian and Gideon snickered silently at the door, and Edgar, who had been the one to bring Bill there, left with a good-humoured chuckle.

"Is everything all right, mum? What happened? Can I go and hunt down those bad people that hurt you?" Bill asked without breathing.

"No, dear, I'm alright. The Healers took care of my injuries really quickly and I'm completely healthy now," Molly smiled, and Arthur took it as a cue to hoist the small boy up from the bed.

"But why are you still in there then?" Bill asked from where he was hovering over her in the arms of his father.

"Because," she started, indicating with a move of her head for her brothers to step closer, "the Healers thought I would need some more time of recovery in my condition."

"Your condition?" Arthur asked, lowering the kid to his hip. "What condition?"

Molly smiled an overly sweet smile, and her brothers whooped. Understanding dawned on Arthur's face.

"Billy," he said, smiling brightly, "You're getting a brother!" and he threw him up into the air in joy.

"Or a sister," Molly added, though her brothers gave her doubtful looks for that, as did the father of his children.

Bill, now down on the ground once more, looked up at his parents' faces, and whooped, too, imitating his uncles.

"Hey Billy, let's go and wait outside for a moment," Gideon said suddenly, hoisting Bill up from the ground onto his hip again. It seemed like it just wasn't meant today for him to have his feet on the floor.

"Why?" Bill asked as he was carried outside.

"Because we should give them… a chance to have some… parent time," Fabian answered, closing the door behind their backs and taking a seat at the opposing wall of the corridor. Gideon sat down next to him, Bill in his lap, and a perfect view of the insides of the Hospital room opened to Bill through the glass pane on the door.

His uncles, fortunately, didn't notice that, for they were engrossed in a talk of Quidditch or something, but Bill found it pretty interesting what was going on with his parents.

"Why has dad kneeled down on the ground, Uncle Fayan?" he suddenly asked, forgetting that he should have tried to keep quiet so that his uncles wouldn't forbid him to watch.

"He is? He is! Finally! Gideon, look!" Both men turned their full attention to the scene playing out in front of them.

"Why is he doing that, Uncle Gidou?" Bill asked his other uncle, not receiving an answer from the first.

"Because he wants to say something to your mother," Gideon replied smoothly.

"But why is he leaning so close to her for that?"

"Because he's talking to her very quietly," Fabian answered.

"But why can't I see his lips move, then?"

"Because he is saying it with his heart," Gideon answered. "And I don't think we should be watching it." With a flick of his wand he had covered the window with a thick white fog that made seeing through it impossible.

"But I want to see!" Bill protested.

"You will, only later," Fabian said.

"But I don't want later! I want now!" Bill said. "Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now…" He left a moment for breathing between each word, and his voice was level, but his uncles understood immediately that they had again brought out his immense stubbornness, although unintentionally.

"Will you please stop?" Fabian asked after some time.

"Now. Now. Now," Bill said, then seemed to think for a moment, and continued. "No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No…"

Suddenly the door opened, and a beaming Arthur stepped out.

"Billy, Gideon, Fabian, come in, I want to introduce you to someone," he said.

"Is my brother here already?" Bill chirped, jumping down from Gideon's lap and sprinting to the door. But he stopped dead in his track with disappointment when he only saw his mother in the room.

"No, not yet," Arthur said. "But I'd like to introduce my fiancée, Miss Molly Prewett, soon to become Mrs. Weasley."

* * *

Author's note: Guess what I want to say here - REVIEW! And if you want to read a specific pairing which you think I won't write otherwise, just leave me a nice note about that! 

On another note - the explanation of why I have turned into a blue sphinx lately can be found on my profile page. Just as the explanation of why this story appears to be complete, though I'm not half done with it, yet.


	11. Millicent and Neville

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, his friends and enemies, and his world.

* * *

_**Chapter 11: Millicent and Neville**_

In the war Millicent lost a lot of things.

She lost her family, as the definition of the word would make it. Her father, her mother, her older brother, her grandmothers, her aunts and uncles. Some of them she lost to death, the others to the prison. And she knew that there was no chance of them returning from either of those — everyone had been judged by the Wizengamot as the law had it, and found guilty; everyone was sentenced for life of imprisonment, because their crimes were heavy, and there was no pretence of guilt in them; and then there was also the fact that if any of them would be freed for exemplary behaviour, then it would definitely be a sign of approaching apocalypse.

She had lost her husband. Well, truth be told, they had not been quite married, yet, but the plans had been made long before Millicent's birth; even long before the birth of Millard, her older brother. The arrangement had been made at the time when her father Mr. Bulstrode had become the patriarch of their line with the death of his father, just around the same time that the same had happened in the Nott family.

And as Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Nott were business associates, as they preferred to be called, and as it was clear that every respected wizard family first gave birth to a son, and then to a daughter, it was quickly arranged that Nott's son would marry Bulstrode's daughter, and the other way round. Millicent had been lucky — she and Theodore were the same age; her brother had been only seventeen years older than Miss Nott. But now they were dead, all of them.

Along with the people Millicent had lost her beliefs, her views on life. All her childhood she had been thought to follow unwaveringly every order from the patriarch of the 'line', and that meant the eldest living man in the male line. (It was also quite usual in the pureblood society that at the age when the sons of the families began to understand that the only thing between them and the total command over their mothers and sisters and money was their father, strange accidents would befall on the fathers, killing them or just leaving them incapable of anything but lying and babbling.)

It wasn't her family dying that shattered Millicent's belief in the rightness of their society, it was the day when Lucius Malfoy, whose wife everyone still believed to give birth to a daughter in the near years only because he was richer and more arrogant than the average pureblood, found out that he was the leak in the Dark Lord's ranks, he was the one giving information to the Order. Though the member of the Order he gave the information to was his son and he didn't know about the shift in his ideals, Millicent saw that if in that family it was possible to fight against the upbringing and one's parents, then it was possible in every other line, too.

And the war ended with her side's loss, and she was left standing; alone, naked, and broken.

And then came all the things she found due to the war.

"Milla, you're doing it again," Neville said, and Millicent raised her eyes from the photo album, knowing and not caring that her cheeks were stained with tears. Her belief in her family had been scattered, but she still cared for her old friends, even though they had been with her in another life.

"I know," she smiled at the concerned face above her, and the gentle thumbs that were brushing away her tears. "And I know that this world is better to live in, but I respect traditions, and I like routine."

"I know you do," Neville answered slowly, and sat down in the other armchair, facing her.

Neville had been one of the most important things she had found after the war, or maybe it had been Neville who had found her. But they had been living together for more than a year now, and he had been the key to her discovering the other things one needed for a life — emotions, friendships, purpose.

Milla chanced another peek at the album. Looking back at her was the picture of her and Daphne and Pansy from Hogwarts from their last year — they were each sitting on a tall pile of books, all the books they had had to buy for the schooling. Daphne's pile was the highest, she had taken the most additional classes of the three of them. Now looking at the picture she wondered whether Hermione would fit into the confines of the photo at all if she had been next to them there.

She closed the album with a bang, trying not to think that Daphne and Pansy were no more. Instead she looked back at Neville and tried to smile. "I like what we have now."

"I like it, too," he said, and sighed. "But even more I'd like it to change."

"Change?" Milla studied him carefully as he rose from the armchair and walked around the coffee table to her.

"Yes, change," he said, kneeling down on the floor next to where she was sitting, and leaning his chin on the arm of the chair. He looked up at her with some strange but strong emotion in his eyes, and Millicent looked back. She wasn't thinking, she wasn't wondering; she knew that if he wanted her to know, then he would tell.

"Millicent," he said after a while of just looking at each other, "would you accept my mother's ring to symbolise your agreement to enter the matrimony with me?" And he produced the band — two golden wines, intertwined, a ruby set in the middle.

Millicent couldn't help but chuckle.

"The sentence was so strange I could barely understand what you said," she smiled. "But yes, of course I will accept it to 'symbolise my agreement to enter the matrimony with you'."

He slid the ring to her finger, and both faces lit up with the emotion that Neville had never thought he would feel, and Millicent hadn't even known existed.

* * *

**Note**: Reviews are appreciated!

Next chapter: Bellatrix and Alastor.


	12. Bellatrix and Alastor

**Disclaimer: **Another chapter where I have not only used the characters and places provided by J.K.Rowling, but also a pairing suggested by my great friend and beta **Heptagon.

* * *

**

_**Chapter 12: Bellatrix and Alastor**_

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Auror Alastor Moody was on patrol duty this morning. Just as he had been every morning this last month. And every afternoon. And even some of the nights.

The young, and insolent, and just plain stupid Aurors running the Office these days said that he should retire again now that the war was over. They said it would be a well-deserved holiday for him. They said they could handle the Bad Guys without him keeping his magical eye on them at all times.

He knew they actually thought they could take their job much easier if he weren't around.

But though he was the one that kept everything in the perfect order it had to be in, and reminded the less weathered Aurors to maintain constant vigilance, he was no longer the Head of the Office. Someone just as young and insolent as the little boys running around with Auror badges attached to the chests of their official Auror robes had decided he was too old for the responsibility of running the Office.

_Thunp. Thump. Thump._

He knew most of the younger people just called him senile and demented. So he was assigned this job. Probably one or other young official had thought it was a good joke now that the dementors were not guarding the prison any more. His job was not the most demanding one, certainly, but definitely one of the most responsible — should any of the people he was assigned to guard break free, the whole world would know and go senseless in fear.

They said he should take a break. Just take a day off, or a week; or maybe an eternity. But he said he knew better than to leave it all to the young fools. And in his mind he knew he had other reasons, too.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

He ended up next to her cell again. He didn't know why, but all the corridors in this cold and draughty prison seemed to lead there. The door was white steel, a huge padlock keeping it closed in addition to the numerous defensive charms. He knew that no lock in this prison was similar to another, and that there was only one key to every lock. And that those keys were stored in a vault of Gringotts with such magic on them that only the goblins could find out the number of the cell each of the keys would open. And it needed human magic to make the numbers of cells in the prison visible, so that only a human and a goblin together could match a key to the lock.

A lot had changed in Azkaban since Sirius Black had escaped.

The thumping of his walking ceased as he stopped at her cell and took a quick magical glance both ways along the corridor. Confident on being the only guard around, he took out his wand and drew a circle on the door of the cell.

The inside of the circle turned invisible.

Bella was at the opening in less than a breath.

"I thought you weren't coming this morning," she said in an urgent whisper.

"I just had to see you," Moody replied, touching his wrinkled and scarred hand to the small circle. Bella's small and white one touched from the other side.

"Oh, I don't know if I can take our separation any longer!" Bella whined, and though her face was pale and haunted and skinny, the way she shook her pitch black hair made something flip over in Alastor's stomach.

"You won't have to wait for too long any more," he whispered serenely.

"You have really found a way?" Her eyes lit up in fiendish glee.

"Around everything but one spell," he nodded. And that was true. He could break more than half of the spells with his eyes closed and hands tied. And after some research that he had done he could work his way through most of the others as well. He had even persuaded a goblin into believing that he, Alastor Moody, was the only trustworthy person in the world, so that now that goblin would do anything for him. But that one spell…

"What is that spell?" Bella asked. "Maybe I can…"

"It's virtually unbreakable, coded to the wand that cast it. The one main defence on those cells. Every cell is padded with it right after the criminal has entered it."

"Yes," she sighed, "I remember now. Rufus Scrimgeour himself did mine."

"Exactly. Only you might not know that both he and his wand were burned to cinders in an arson fire two weeks ago."

Bella cursed silently, then suppressed the words, and took on the look of a small unfortunate child she had harboured before.

"What does it do?" she asked, staring at Moody through the invisible part of the door with moist eyes.

Moody grinned humourlessly, baring his few yellowing teeth. "It keeps any person that's named Bellatrix Lestrange crossing the space it was cast on."

Bella looked crestfallen. Actually she was in a maddened rage, but she couldn't let Moody see that. This old senile Auror was her only ticket out.

"What will we do then?" she sobbed instead, and was gratified not only with distress at her misery in his normal eye, but also the glint which informed of a plan being born.

"You could get out, if your name wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange," he hissed mirthfully.

"True," Bella considered it. Under the laws of magic changing names was strictly regulated. Or it would be easier to say, just plain prohibited. There was only one way the name could be changed, and not even everyone could use that way. Only women…

"Will you marry me?" Alastor asked from outside.

Bella looked at him in heartfelt surprise. Was she really that good an actor?

"I understand that I'm old and ugly and we have a history that would not be considered very loving, but I can see it in you that you want to be with me, and that the end of our lives would be happier if we were anywhere but here. And I'm not just thinking about you getting out… Will you marry me, Bella?"

"Yes, certainly," she answered, and before Moody left the side of her cell they had made arrangements of how he could smuggle a piece of parchment and a quill in there for her.

-----

The Daily Prophet, and it's most well-known reporter Rita Skeeter, hadn't been selling as well for a long time.

_Dark Forces Rising Again_, read the title on the first page.

_After the infamous breakout of the notorious Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange, the wizarding world was convinced nothing could shock them more. That belief was blown after a group of Aurors studying the circumstances of the escape published their report, declaring the Auror who had been responsible of guarding that wing of the prison missing in action, and the major enchantments on the cell still intact. The author if this story has found out from reliable sources that the Auror was none other than old 'Mad-Eye' Moody, who was known in the Office to be getting senile._

_Onward investigation revealed that the Aurors have received a torn-out human heart via owl mail, which has been suggested to be that of Alastor Moody, though the medical team hasn't yet managed to get any firm results on that, and the rest of the body hasn't been found._

_To further the belief in the new rise of the Dark Forces, this reporter has found out from an anonymous ministry official that none of the detection spells that the Aurors used to identify the way by which Bellatrix Lestrange left the prison has turned up any results, implying that she has not left the prison at all. The Aurors are still baffled, trying to find out how she could have made her disappearing unplottable, instead of informing the wizarding society of the new and more advanced kind of evil that has broken free._

_The author of this story promises solemnly to do her best to get the criminals to the justice, and the truth to the readers._

Bella snorted humourlessly as she crumpled the paper and padded her toes with it to keep them warm. There was a job opening, she knew, at a tiny and secret and quite illegal school she respected. And though Siberia was not among the first places she would have liked to spend her life at, it was still better than Azkaban.

Besides, there would be snow in Siberia. And she liked snow.

* * *

**Author's note**: There's one thing in common between me and Bella. We both like snow. Don't you? 


	13. Ginny and Draco

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his friends and enemies and surroundings belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Author's note: **Thank Cherry-Black for suggesting this pairing - I wouldn't have written it otherwise.

* * *

_**Chapter 13: Ginny and Draco**_

Ginny Weasley giggled as she pressed herself low behind the garbage bin between two shops in the Diagon Alley where Draco Malfoy was already waiting for her.

"She won't notice me gone for so many minutes I can't even count that far!" she giggled, poking her companion in his arm gently. She had heard Bill use this expression now and then, and she tried to make it sound as gloating as her older brother did, but in this case it was probably quite true.

"Where is she, then?" the small boy asked, crouching down next to her, careful not to wrinkle his fine dark grey clothes too much.

"At the second hand robe shop, trying to find dress robes for Percy," Ginny said, giggling again. "And no one noticed me slipping outside. They'll think I've got lost in all those clothes there. Where's your dad?"

"He went on some grown-up business to the Knockturn Alley, and said that I was too young to go with him. He asked the maid at the ice cream parlour to look after me, but then some of your brothers got there and caught all her attention." He giggled, too, in answer to the girl; a thing he would never have done in any other company.

"Was Ronny with them?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"And he got ice cream?" Ginny sounded disappointed and sad.

"It seemed so, yes," he answered carefully, poking her slightly to get her mind off sweets.

"Good, then," she smiled her childish grin which showed so well that one of her front teeth was missing. "Then I can tell Mum that he did, and he'll get in trouble because he should be punished."

"What did he do?" Draco asked, looking anxious.

"He took away that stone you gave me the last time we met, the one that looked like Dumbledore if you looked at it from the right angle," she pouted but then lit up again. "But Bill was at home at that time and so he came for rescue and told Mum."

"Did you get it back?" he asked.

"Yeah, I have it here in my pocket," Ginny said, shuffling around in one of the tiny pockets of her faded and torn robes. "Here it is," she announced triumphantly, the little stone lying flat on her palm now.

Next few minutes the two spent examining the stone, and then having him strut around on the lid of the garbage bin which was by mutual consent named Hogwarts. Ginny couldn't wait to get there herself, and neither could Draco, she knew. They had discussed the topic to all ends on their secret meetings there behind the bin. But they still had to wait — not too much, though, Ginny was nearly seven now, and had to wait for only four more years. And Draco would be even luckier — he only had three to go.

"Do you have any ink in your pocket?" she suddenly asked.

"Some blue one, yes," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"We should paint Dumbledore blue," she explained, "because Fred and George will be starting next year, and they promised to do that when they got there. So by the time we go, Dumbledore will be blue."

"But I don't like blue. Blue's a Ravenclaw colour," he said, pouting. "I like green much better than blue. And I have no green ink."

"And I like green, too. But then… Draco, I don't like red!" she suddenly yelped, grabbing hold of his arm. "But if I don't like red, does that mean I can't be a Gryffindor?" she asked, tears ready to spring into her eyes if there should be any reason for it, however small.

"But you like green. So you could be in Slytherin with me," Draco reasoned in a hushing older-brotherly voice.

"But I don't want to be in Slytherin!" She was crying now in earnest, her little chin shaking and her cheeks wet with tears. "I want to be in Gryffindor, because Bill is in Gryffindor! And Bill said Gryffindor is good, and Slytherin is bad!"

Suddenly she stopped crying, blinking her eyes in confusion a couple of times. She swallowed, and then turned to face Draco.

"Bill said that Slytherin is bad. And you want to be in Slytherin. Are you bad, then?" Her eyes were wide in fear and disbelief.

"You've known me for a long time now, Ginny," Draco said, caressing her flyaway red hair. "Do you think I'm bad?"

"No," she said with certainty. "But that would mean… That would mean that Bill's wrong, and that can't be. Bill's never wrong. Bill would never lie to me," she said, awe and pride beaming from her every feature when discussing her eldest brother. "But Bill also said that the Slytherins thought that the Gryffindors were bad. Draco, do you think I'm bad?"

"No!" he answered, his eyes wide, and then smiled. "I will never think that Gryffindors are bad if you are a Gryffindor. And I'll tell the other Slytherins, too, that you are not bad." He put as much serenity and severity into his voice as he could muster, trying to make it sound the way his father's voice sounded when he was talking business with those other big men that sometimes came into the Manor. And thinking of father gave him another idea.

"We could have Dumbledore," he gestured towards the stone, "assign us one of the suites at Hogwarts, so we wouldn't even have to live in separate parts of the castle," he said, proud of himself for having had the idea.

"But Bill said that everyone had to sleep with their House in a secluded part of the school where the others couldn't come," she sounded hesitative.

"But I heard my Father say," Draco said importantly, "that if the students were married then they would be given an apartment for only themselves, and they wouldn't be forced into separate dormitories."

"But we're not married," Ginny pointed out the obvious flaw in his plan.

"But I went with Father to this wedding of this important wizard he likes to talk business to, and I remember how they did it."

"You do?" Ginny was exited now. "I've never been to a wedding. How do they do it?"

"I'll show you," he said. "First we need some parchment." He started shuffling through his pockets, but Ginny was quicker.

"I've got some. It's a bit wrinkled, though." There was worry in her eyes. "Will this work?" Quickly the garbage bin lid named Hogwarts was turned into a desk, and a sharp-pointed twig they found on the ground was decided to be suitable instead of a quill. Draco gently uncorked the ink bottle that they fortunately hadn't wasted on Dumbledore.

"Sure," he smiled. "Now, how exactly did they write it?" He wrinkled his nose, trying to remember. "Something along the lines of '_With this contract I'_ then the name, in this case Draco Regulus Malfoy," he wrote it down in the spidery scrawl that he called his legible handwriting, the tip of his tongue visible between his teeth. He read over what he had written already with a victorious smile on his lips, and then continued, voicing the words as he wrote them, "confess and affirm my undying love for Ginevra… What's your middle name?"

"Molly, after my mum," she said silently, as if not to disturb his important line of thought.

"Thanks. —Molly Weasley, and endorse her as my one and only wife for all eternity." He ended the paragraph with his elaborate signature, and then handed it over to Ginny. "Now you write the same, only replace our names, and say 'husband' instead of 'wife'," he instructed.

"And then?" Ginny asked, writing already.

"Then we have to get three grownups to touch their wands to it and say 'I confirm the legality of this act', and then we'll be married," he said.

"Great!" Ginny chirped, signing her own name to the bottom of the parchment, and studying it with half-closed eyes. "But who will we get? Bill?"

"I don't know… Maybe they have to be older," he said doubtfully.

"Bill is old," Ginny insisted.

"We can ask, then. Let's go, they might still be at the ice cream parlour."

And the two took off, running. The cloud of red hair was clearly visible quite a long way from where the Weasley boys were sitting.

"Bill! Bill! Bill!" Ginny shouted, running to him, Draco hot on her heels.

"What, Gin?" Bill asked, strutting down to the street to meet her, and catching her in an embrace to slow her down. "Oh, you've found a friend. Hello, I'm Bill," he said, extending his arm to Draco who was standing just behind Ginny, looking just as exited and wrinkled, and just as out of breath.

"No time for that!" Ginny scolded him, hitting his hand away playfully, and holding out their precious scrap of parchment. "Put your wand on that and say 'I confirm the legality of this act'," she instructed firmly, Draco nodding eagerly behind her back to urge him forward.

"Well, before confirming it, may I read it?" Bill asked in amusement.

"No," was the answer from two mouths at the same time.

"But then I can't do it," Bill said, suppressing a laugh.

"Please! Please-please-please-please-please!" Ginny said, and though Draco didn't say a word he looked just as pleading.

Bill chuckled. With a quick Seeker-worthy movement he snatched the parchment away and hoisted so high up that the two children couldn't reach it. He gave it a quick glance, and then his eyes rounded up.

"Is this—? What have you—?" He took a couple of calming breaths, then looked down at the evidently disappointed faces below. He forced himself look stern instead of worried and frightened, reminding himself that he was still dealing with seven or eight years old kids. "Has anyone already pointed their wands to it to say those words?"

The children shook their heads.

Bill sighed in relief.

"Please," Ginny said silently. "Otherwise Draco'll be bad at Hogwarts."

Bill looked down at the dark brown round eyes of his sister, and the just as round but cloudy grey ones of Draco. He didn't know what to say. Fortunately for him, salvation came running down the street with a plastic bag dangling to one arm.

Bill felt his nerves ease in a moment, and couldn't help but yell in happiness, "Mum!"

* * *

**Author's note (again)**: REVIEW! 


	14. Poppy and Albus

**Disclaimer: **Ok, in this chapter I have a lot to disclaim. First - Harry Potter and everything else to do with him belong to J.K. Rowling. Then the idea of chaining people to the walls cme from **Heptagon** and her story _Creation of Pigwarts_. And in addition to that, the paragraph where the chess tournament is announced is from the story Heptagon and I wrote together, and from her chapter, not mine. But the rest of the ideas, I believe, are mine.

* * *

_**Chapter 14: Poppy and Albus**_

"Albus, you have to do something about it!"

Madam Pomfrey stormed into the Headmasters' office with her face red with anger, and her hands stained with some differently coloured potions.

Dumbledore raised his gaze from the parchment he had been studying with mild interest.

"Is everything alright, Poppy?"

"I will not tolerate the Quidditch championship in this school any longer! I have seven Slytherins, eleven Glyffindors, and two unfortunate helpful Hufflepuffs in the Wing right now, and there's still more than a week to the next game!"

"It might have nothing to do with that game," Albus smiled sweetly, conjuring a chair for the ruffled matron.

"Really? So why are half of both Slytherins and Gryffindors looking like giant versions of Pommas, Quaffles, and Snitches, and poor young Bill Weasley like one of the hoops, whole with his mouth so round and big that the Pomma-Zabini could freely pass through?"

"Well, in that case I must agree with you. It most certainly has something to do with the game," Albus smiled, scratching a large signature under the report he had been reading, and putting his work away. "What would you have me do, my dear Poppy? It's not like I could take away their chance to play Quidditch! I already get at least a dozen owls every week asking me why the First Years can't play."

"Replace it then! With Wizard Chess or something like that! Something that wouldn't be as dangerous!"

-----

Back then Dumbledore had just smiled his small smile which so clearly said that he knew better than to do as others advised. But now years had passed since that incident. And now Dumbledore was dead. And now even the motherly Madam Pomfrey was dead, usually lounging on her portrait in the hallway leading to the Hospital Wing (Dumbledore knew that, he had just passed by that corridor quite often recently), but right now she was probably in the small antechamber next to the Great Hall, visiting someone there on a lame excuse, and straining her ears so that she wouldn't miss any word that Albus said.

"My dear students, professors, ghosts, and other creatures, I would like to welcome you all to another year at Hogwarts," he started. "I know you can't wait to start with your studies, and take up new subjects…" there was a murmur of disappointment in the hall, seeing as Dumbledore's speech was really long this year. "But this year we have something very special planned out in Hogwarts — A HOGWARTS CHESS TOURNAMENT!"

Poppy beamed with joy at hearing that. Finally Albus had got himself together to do what she had advised him to do so many years ago. She didn't listen to the explanation of rules that Dumbledore followed the announcement with, instead she nervously waited for the ex-Headmaster to leave his portrait that he had demanded to be moved to the Great Hall. And finally, as the chatter and clicking of forks echoed from the feast, he came.

"I couldn't but notice that you didn't cancel the Quidditch games," she reprimanded him as soon as she noticed him approaching.

"Well, my dear, I thought that if I did call them off it would only turn their attention back to flying, but this way they'll just forget about it," Albus twinkled, and nodded lightly to the ragged young man who was chained to a dungeon wall on the portrait they were passing through. "Come with me," he ordered Poppy.

Pomfrey wrinkled her nose at the sight of the captive, because she had offered to cure his awful wounds many times already, but the man had always refused.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as the wrinkled hand held on to hers tightly and tore her from one picture to another.

"There's a picture near the kitchens that I'd really like to visit with you. You know — candles, and roses, and a nice dinner, and snow falling outside… Besides, I have a great idea of a prank!"

"Albus!" she reprimanded, but the blush creeping up her painted cheeks hinted that she hadn't paid much attention to the part about the prank.

"Yes, and it has a greater goal too, not just our enjoyment. I thought we should eat the pear that allows people to open the portrait that leads to the kitchens — imagine how much that would lessen the amount of students creeping around the school at night! They'd all get nice long nights of sleep, and it would be so good for their health…"

Poppy chuckled, but still shook her blushing head. "You know we can't do that! Besides, I just can't wait to get to that dinner picture…"

Albus twinkled, and quite soon, after passing through all kinds of paintings of fruit trees, and dinner parties, and a loaf of black bread on a table with a huge knife by its side, they got to the small dimly lit painting at the end of the hallway.

Poppy couldn't but gasp in surprise.

"I didn't know a painting like this even existed in this castle!" she said, awestruck. "It's beautiful! Thank you, Albus!"

"Well, it was originally for Rowena and Salazar. They were quite friendly before he left the castle, I've heard."

"It's still beautiful," Poppy smiled, sitting down in the chair Dumbledore had pulled out for her in a gentleman-like manner.

"There's one more thing I've borrowed from Rowena for today…" Albus said, not going over to his seat but standing there next to Poppy and looking down at her eager young face. "I'm really sorry I can't afford to have one painted just for you, but this will have to do. I hope you're not too disappointed…"

With that he kneeled down, and took the hand of the matron between his palms.

"Madam Poppy Pomfrey, will you marry me?" he asked, and snow fell outside, and candles burned, and a red rose on the table was drowning them in its sweet smell.

"Of course, Headmaster. Of course I will, Albus," she said, and let him slide the borrowed engagement ring on her finger.

He quickly stood up, and the next moment he was already seated at the table, facing his young fiancée. "You know, there's a nice portrait in the seventh floor corridor between the magical mirror that insults your appearance and the secret entrance to the attic above Divination classroom. We could get married there, if you don't mind, naturally…"

* * *

**Author's note:** REVIEW! And then go and read _Chess_ (link on my profile) - there are no proposals there, but at least there's a Hogwarts Chess Championship. 


	15. Gabrielle and Draco

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, but you should know it already by now.

**Author's note**: I'm so sorry for the immensely long wait, but I have an explanation! I had planned this chapter to be the 16th, and the fifteenth to be about Bella and Rodolphus, but that didn't work out, somehow, and so I posted this instead, now. Read and enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter 15: Gabrielle and Draco**_

He was walking through the crowds of the engagement party, his best dark robes billowing around him as he was followed with eyes full of distaste. He wasn't used to that. After all, he was usually one of the best-respected characters in the magical society; respected for his money, his knowledge, his looks, and mostly for his bachelorhood. But now that last one was nearing to its end.

And about time it was, he would say himself; he was nearing his thirtieth birthday now, and after the devastating wars that had shaken their world a decade ago it would be a waste of perfectly good wizard genes if he didn't have a family. He hadn't even noticed it before they started to make the list of people to invite to the engagement party — at first he had suggested they only invite his family, but then he realised they met his mother too often to throw a party where she'd be the only guest.

And now the ballroom of his house was filled with her family, and so was the drawing room, and so was the entrance hall, and so were probably the salon, and the dining room, and the main everyday living room, and so many other rooms. And soon they would all be his family, too. He was really horrified, thinking of that day.

Alright, the French weren't that bad. They knew how to behave — when to smile, when to make compliments, when to sip their champagne, and when to turn the talk to the weather. That was alright with him. What he didn't like was the fact that sooner than his brain would manage it, he would be related (again, and more closely than ever before) to the Weasleys.

He had been so certain that nothing could come of their relationship when he first met her that he hadn't even fought against this feeling. It had been a usual day, and he had been working at the reception at St. Mungo's. The tiny blonde had Apparated not in the correct spot for that, but behind the receptionist's desk, next to him.

-----

"Monsieur, aidez moi! Une voiture des Moldu… et ma mère…" she had blabbed, then, without further explanation she had grabbed his arm, and Apparated them both to the scene.

It took Draco a moment to understand what was going on, and what had happened there. A breathtakingly beautiful woman, almost identical to the beauty that had fetched Draco if only seeming somehow a little older, was standing in the middle of the road in the Muggle part of London. She seemed frozen to place, immobile. _Obvious symptoms of shock_, Draco said in his mind.

What had shocked the woman was strewn all over the place. Bits of metal, and rubber, and plastic had flown as high as to the third floor windows of the surrounding houses. And amidst all this, still in the middle of the street, lay four battered and bloody bodies — a middle-aged woman wearing a widow's black, and three children, the eldest looking about seven years old. A group of Muggles had already gathered around them, and from somewhere he could hear the sirens of Muggle police and ambulance.

Quickly, Draco drew out his wand; not worrying about how many Muggles saw him do it. He placed it on the Hospital emblem on the front of his robes, and with a few chosen words sent the message to the Emergency Squad of St. Mungo's, and to the Muggle Liaison Office at the Ministry.

Moments later several pops of apparition told him that his receptionists' job was done. Only then did he notice that the blonde was still clinging to his arm with her shaking hands.

He led her over to the side, and they sat down on the pavement. Draco uncorked the small vial of Calming Draught that all employed Healers had to have with them at all times, and forced it down the woman's throat.

She sat a moment in silence, and then smiled to him.

"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur. Je ne sais pas que j'ai dû avoir…" she said in quick French.

"I don't understand a word," Malfoy replied, shaking his head.

"Ah! Vous ne parlez pas de français? Avez-vous de parchemin?" she asked, pretending writing to make him understand.

"No, I'm sorry, but I don't speak French," Malfoy replied again, not understanding. "But I need you to fill in some forms about the accident. Do you think we can do it?" he asked, taking out some rolls of parchment from a pocket of his lime-green robe.

"Merci!" she said, grabbing the parchment from him, taking out her wand, and placing its tip on the clean side of the parchment carefully. "_Reddo fre-eng_," she said, and the wand remained balancing on its tip on the parchment.

She quickly explained this to Draco.

"Ma belle-sœur a composée ce sortilège, pour notre conversations. Elle aussi travaille à St. Mungo's. Vous la connaissez?" she asked quickly.

"I'm sorry, but I don't speak French," Draco answered once more, staring at her hair and wondering where he had seen such before.

The woman chuckled at that, then tugged at his hand, and indicated to the piece of parchment on the pavement between them. Her wand was scribbling away on it.

Draco quickly read through what was written there (at least those parts that were in English). She was fascinated about the spell; if there was one to do the translating between French and English, it could be accosted to any other language, too. She needed to meet the creator of the spell.

"Your sister-in-law? I might know her. What's her name?"

"Hermione Weasley," he read from the parchment, and his eyes shot up to the beautiful and pale face of the stunning blonde.

"You're not a Weasley," he said, as if trying to convince himself in that.

"Bien sur, mais ma soeur est s'épousée d'un," she answered, and he had to lower his gaze to the parchment to find out that "Of course not, but my sister is married to one."

"So, I'm Gabrielle Delacour," appeared on the parchment as she introduced herself. "And you?"

-----

He had been so convinced that he could never hold dear anything remotely resembling something that the Weasleys loved. So he had had nothing against this little _thank-you-dinner_ that Gabrielle had suggested after the paperwork had been done. And then one dinner had led to another, then movies, then the theatre, then Madam Puddifoots'. Draco had been forced to buy two more owls to get all his letters to the recipient. And then she had come and said that she needed a place to stay at in England for a week, and he had offered the guest room of his manor.

And now it was their engagement party. He hadn't asked her to marry him, yet, he had decided he'd do it here, in front of everyone. She knew he wanted it that way, and she respected his decision. So he made his way to the centre of the room where Gabrielle was sitting at a table and parchment-conversing with some kids of the Weasleys.

He walked there, and indicated for her to stand up. She did.

With a wave of his wand a freezing cold breeze flew through the entire manor, gathering everyone's attention. Draco was nervous, naturally, as all eyes truned to him.

He took the golden argil out of his robes, and started.

"This get-together was proclaimed as an Engagement Party," he said, putting his hand on Gabrielle's waist, "but as of now, none of the people here are engaged. I need to clear that mistake."

He smiled nervously, as he got down on one knee and looked up into the pale face and clear eyes of the woman he loved. Silent sobbing was heard from the direction where Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Malfoy, and Mme Delacour stood in each other's embrace.

"Gabrielle Delacour, will you marry me?"

"Oui, certainement," she answered, letting him slide the diamond ring on her finger before forcing him up and kissing him.

* * *

**Author's note**: I'm not perfectly happy with this chapter. Neither was my beta, but she has the right not to like it, because she's an avid Hermione/Draco shipper. I'm not, so I don't know why I don't like this.

Did you like it? And why not? All constructive criticism is welcome!


	16. Minerva and Sirius

**Disclaimer: **You've probably read I-don't-know-how-many chapters of this story already, but just in case you haven't got it yet - I don't own Minerva and Sirius. And Moody. And Aurors. And probably Flitwick as well (I don't remember whether he was mentioned in this chapter or not). Or anyone else.

_**Chapter 16: Minerva and Sirius**_

Moody had definitely been furious when he heard it. But in Sirius' opinion he had no right. After all, it wasn't Sirius' fault at all. Maybe only a little, but how could he have known that the others made such silly mistakes at their final exams. And even if he had known, it wasn't reasonable to expect him to give less than his best himself. And all in all it was supposed to be a good thing if you were the best of the class.

But Moody had still been furious. He had this weird belief that if Sirius was to be let onto the stand at his graduation of the Auror Academy, some certain catastrophe would follow. It was still unfair to punish Sirius for just being the best of the new generation of Aurors; it should be an honour for the best of each year to give a speech at their graduation.

And Moody had been absolutely furious; if not for anything else then the simple fact that he hadn't been powerful enough to veto the decision to give Sirius the chance to give a speech. But he had taken his revenge in the form of forcing Sirius to write his speech under his strict eyes, and then making the young man rehearse it so many times that usually their meetings ended not late at night but rather some time mid-morning.

And now Sirius was furious. Because in his honest opinion even a great Auror like Moody wasn't supposed to control his every word and movement.

And as he made his way to the podium, his newly acquired Auror Certificate in his hand and his speech so well learnt by heart that he was sure it would now never be forgotten, he was ready to show Moody that a real Auror never lets someone else tell them how to do their job.

He took the stand and smiled to the audience.

"Dear Minister, Aurors and graduates, professors and class-mates, friends and family, acquaintances and enemies, ladies and gentlemen," Sirius said, looking pointedly at Moody. He saw the older Auror flip his eyes at Sirius at the mention of 'enemies', and a few other people in the audience chuckled, but mostly no one even noticed anything being wrong.

Sirius was happy. He had got his initial goal. By the face Moody had now he was listening to every word Sirius was saying — ready to catalogue every single syllable that was different than what they had rehearsed. And that was exactly what he wanted because he was not going to change anything else in the speech.

_Lull him into false security,_ Sirius thought to himself as his mouth moved on its own, giving the speech. _See if you can trick the un-trickable_.

And it was working. The audience was going into a slumber because the speech was boring, and even Moody was loosening up on listening, allowing himself a crooked smile, probably thinking that this first sentence was all that Sirius had guts to change. He already readied his hands to start clapping, for he knew that the speech was about to end, when Sirius suddenly flashed a huge smile.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, before I finish I'd like to ask something from a special person that has been extremely important in my life, and hopefully will only gain more importance after today," Sirius said, and Moody groaned infernally, cursing any and every woman that had ever dated Sirius Black.

Sirius, at the same time, took a jewellery box out of his pocket, and opened it so that every single person in the hall could see an expensive diamond ring flickering in there. Moody groaned again, but this time a little less angrily; a public proposal he could handle, after all, and even scoundrels like Black deserved to have nice memories of that day of their life.

"Will you marry me?" Black asked, again smiling courageously into the audience, and every person there was holding their breath. Moody could see that even McGonagall was covertly brushing away a tear.

But moments passed and nobody answered the question.

Then Sirius went on, not a bit flustered by the silence. "You have been there for me most of my life. You have been there to pull me back when I crossed the line. You've been there to send me to bed, and you've been there to get me out of bed. You've taught me much of life — what to do, and what not to do. I know that ever since we first met you've kept an eye on me every time we're in the same room. And asking these good people around us to be witnesses, I assure you that just like you, every time we've been in the same room I've kept one of my eyes trained on you. So now, standing here, I ask you to marry me."

There were a few sighs and happy murmurs in the audience, and people were straining their necks to see who it was Sirius was talking to.

"Will you marry me, Minerva?" Sirius asked one more time, kneeling down on the floor.

The uproar was immediate.

First and foremost Minerva McGonagall herself fainted. Then professor Flitwick shot up from his chair by her side and started ranting about beheading insolent boys. A few people laughed, some other fumed silently. Everyone was talking to someone, but no words could be heard, because Moody was the loudest of all.

"BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" he hollered, his already distort face looking even more inhuman than usually.

But by the time that Moody managed to come up with another plan of action besides yelling, Sirius and his Auror Certificate had already long ago left the hall.

* * *

**REVIEW!**


	17. Alicia and Fred

**Author's Note: **As it is, I've run quite out of clever ideas. So this is a completely unoriginal chapter with not much humor and not much romance and no much anything, but at least I posted something...**  
**

**Disclaimer: **Everyone knows I don't own them, and I'm making no profit out of this.

* * *

**  
**

_**Chapter 17: Alicia and Fred**_

"Seven butterbeers and two mineral waters," Fred told Rosmerta as their whole group got seated at the nearest table. "Harry's paying."

Harry grunted with mock anger, conceding that it had been a silly bet anyway. He had only agreed to take the bet to keep Ron out of it. He honestly had never even thought that the Cannons would have even the slightest chance of winning. It was still a pity, though, that they hadn't won because Fred's definition of "having a drink or something at the Three Broomsticks with the loser paying" seemed to depend a lot on who the loser was. Not that Harry was stingy or anything, but Bill, Fred, George, Ron, Remus, and Fleur, Luna, and Tonks could drink quite a large amount of alcohol in a short amount of time (alright, Fleur and Tonks would be on non-alcoholic drinks due to their condition, but that didn't change much).

"You should do it more often," Ron told Harry, taking one of the butterbeers Rosmerta had just delivered to their table. "This way there's at least some positive side to the Cannons' matches."

"Oh, but I heard there was another quite differently positive side to the last match," Fred smirked, opening his bottle with his teeth.

"Yeah, or at least something positive _by_ your side…" George added with an identical grin.

"However did you manage to convince Hermione to come and watch it?" Tonks asked with a wink, sipping her water.

Ron blushed. "She had nothing better to do," he mumbled, trying to avert the topic by taking a gulp of beer, but managing to spill it on his robes instead, which made him turn even redder in the face.

The table rang with laughter.

"So you'll be accompanying her to the British Magical Library on Saturday?" Harry suggested, and the others let out another burst of laughter.

"I…" Ron said.

"Is that a yes?" Bill guessed.

"No!" Ron said fiercely, without managing to diminish the laughing, though.

"Where, then?" George inquired, and Ron already opened his mouth to deny having promised to go anywhere with Hermione to make her come to the match (especially going to the Opera on Friday night), when the entrance of a group of chatting witches averted his brothers' attention.

"Angie! Alicia!" Fred called out, waving to them to come and sit with their group, but their classmates only waved back and laughed at some joke, and made their way to the further corner of the barroom with the other witches.

"So, what did you promise to do, then?" Fred turned back to Ron, disappointed at the women's behaviour and trying to cover up his disappointment.

Ron, having already sighed with relief, turned the colour of a tomato again, and started to sink under the table while trying his best to look like an empty seat.

"Ah, stop teasing him," Bill said suddenly, and it was so unexpected that everyone did shut up, and even Ron forgot to look as if he wasn't there, "about the match," Bill added with a wicked grin. "Better tease him about the ring!"

"Harry!" Ron shouted, letting his bottle of butterbeer drop onto his robes and spill its last contents. "I told you it was a secret!"

Harry laughed with the others, shrugging. "I only told Berit," he said, indicating to his secretary who was chatting with Angelina and her other friends.

Ron gave him an angry look.

"Ah, what's past is past," Remus said, patting Ron's shoulder amicably. "It wouldn't have stayed a secret for long, anyway."

"So, have you done it yet?" Fleur asked, raising her head a couple of notches from Bill's shoulder where it had been resting for a while already.

"No. I'm afraid. What if she says no!" Ron asked, staring at his completely empty bottle.

"She won't," Tonks said at the same moment that George suggested, "Then you go after another woman, simple."

"Stop it! You don't know how hard it is to propose!" Ron almost shouted.

"Oh yeah," Bill sighed, resting his chin in Fleur's hair.

"Don't remind me," Remus mumbled, hiding behind his butterbeer bottle as Tonks' voice rang out in laughter.

"It's not difficult at all," Fred said.

"Oh yeah? Who are you marrying then?" Ron asked with challenge in his voice.

"Alicia," Fred said with determination.

The whole table was quiet in a matter of a second, besides George who was coughing heavily on his butterbeer. Harry looked from one shocked staring face to another, until his eyes met Ron's which seemed void of any emotion.

"When did you propose, then?" Harry asked, finding his voice again. The others nodded him on, clearly indicating that they would have asked the same if their vocal chords still worked.

"Oh, I knew I forgot something…" Fred said, and then continued, shouting, "Hey, Alicia!"

"What?" she asked loudly from the other end of the barroom. All the other women around her had shushed, giggling silently on the background.

"Will you marry me?" Fred boomed out.

Alicia looked at him, considering. Then she nodded. "Yeah, alright. But I have two conditions."

"And what may those be?"

"First, I want a large wedding. And the second one will probably be fulfilled, too, considering your family," Alicia said.

"Lizzie wants a lot of children," Berit, Harry's secretary, exclaimed merrily, making _Lizzie_ turn a brilliant shade of Weasley red in the face.

"See, Ron, no big deal," Fred said easily, jumping up from his seat and escorting his fiancée out of the Three Broomsticks. As the door closed behind them, silence was left behind, and Madam Rosmerta's sniffing.

"No big deal," Harry repeated, trying to twist his lips into a comforting smile. All others still seemed to be speechless. After a minute or so of the silence that usually was impossible when there was more than zero Weasleys present at once, Harry decided his quicker overcoming of shock should profit him in some way, too.

"So, now that Fred's gone, everyone pays for his own drink!"

He expected at least some reaction to that, but still nothing happened. After a bit more sitting and doing nothing, Ron seemed to regain his ability to speak.

"No big deal," he mumbled. "But I don't remember where I put the ring!"

* * *

**REVIEW** (please) 


	18. Cho and Terry

**Note: **This chapter was written because of the incessant pleas from my beta Heptagon. For some reason she thought that the name Cho Boot would sound just hilarious. Well, for some reason, she was right. But actually I just wanted to say that I don't own Terry and Cho, and I don't own Hogwarts, and Colin, and Parvati... yo get the drift. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter 18: Cho and Terry**_

Terry Boot was not a remarkable person. For one thing, he couldn't quite understand what the Sorting Hat had seen in him to put him in Ravenclaw. Not that he didn't like it there, of course he did, but he needed to study so much to keep up with the others, and studying, naturally, was for fools — the smart didn't need to study, they understood without that. And, following the logic, the fools didn't belong in Ravenclaw. Therefore Terry just suspected that there hadn't been any bravery or ambition in him, and not even loyalty, so that the Hat had had to toss a dice or something and that's why he had ended up where he had.

Cho Chang, on the other hand, was a remarkable person in every way; and as anyone who had ever walked past her without a remark about her looks, her mind, or any other of those perfect aspects of her could tell, she had a remarkably good aim, too. But there was just one thing — she didn't quite understand how she had ended up in Ravenclaw. Not that she didn't like it there, of course she did, but she wasn't quite the studious and knowledge-hungry person that every Ravenclaw was supposed to be. She wasn't a fan of reading or studying or researching or writing, she just depended on her instincts and logic in the lessons. Therefore Cho just suspected that there had been quite equal amounts of bravery and ambition in her, and even loyalty, so that the Hat had had to toss a dice or something and that's why she had ended up where she had.

But there were some strong similarities between the two Ravenclaws, and anyone could see it in their current situation. They were sitting in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, surrounded by the likes of them, by people who had lost their families and homes and pasts, just as they had. They were sitting next to each other, bowls of porridge in front of them. It wasn't tasty, but at least it kept them alive.

Cho twirled her spoon in the food and brought it to her mouth slowly. She had learnt to block out the taste, now, after having eaten it every morning for a number of weeks. Like every other morning, her mind wasn't with the porridge she was eating, or with the people surrounding her. Her mind was busy adding up her strengths, weighing her choices of what to do with her future, calculating the greatness she could achieve on which path, and comparing them. Every morning she would try to decide how great she wanted to become while licking the tasteless porridge from her spoon, surrounded by people who could never manage to get out of their pitiful situation as well as she could.

Terry leaned his head on his hands and closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to stare down into the brown thing they called food. He didn't feel very hungry, he never felt very hungry any more because he didn't do much else than sleep nowadays, anyway. He let his mind drift away, dreaming of what would be if everything was different, if he was different.

The Hall was slowly emptying of people, everyone went away on their own business — some to cry somewhere, some to Apparate to the ruins of their past to see if anything could still be saved, some to search for jobs, some to find a nice warm place under some tree and sleep through the day.

Cho didn't move. Instead she stared at the porridge with disgust, just like she stared with disgust at the people who had emptied their bowls and were leaving the Hall. She thought their daily activities were pointless, and irrational, and all-in-all ridiculous because they had done the same thing every day for weeks now and hadn't gotten anywhere. She knew that if she one day made up her mind on which way to choose, she would instantly be successful, and wouldn't have the need to come back to this porridge any more.

Terry didn't move either, but that was because he was asleep. In his dream he moved. In his dream he went out of the Great Hall, down to the Lake, and started yelling pointless words just out of frustration. In his dream he decided that the current situation was not to be tolerated any more. In his dream he decided that something had to change.

The next moment, something changed.

His arm received a painful whack and flew out from under his chin. His head lolled over with all the weight of sleep, and Terry fell headfirst into his inedible and now also cold porridge.

"You're more pathetic than the others," Cho voiced her thoughts, convulsing with silent laughter as she watched her House-mate trying to breathe through the stale porridge, then seem to suffocate for a little while, and then emerge from the bowl with a red porridge-covered face.

"At least I have a plan!" Terry said, trying to regain some dignity. He hadn't spoken to Cho in years, if ever, they were just so different.

"Oh really? To go out where you go every day, do what you do every day, and come back empty handed like you do every day?" Cho asked with sarcasm, and by the hue of Terry's face she had been quite right. "Or maybe just go outside and start yelling pointless words out of frustration?"

Terry blushed even redder.

"At least I do something!" Terry tried again. "Unlike you."

"Well, I'm planning my next moves. I'll be gone from here before anyone else."

"Oh, you will? So, what are your plans?" Terry pried.

"I'm going to be the High Healer of St. Mungo's. Or maybe take over Ollivander's business now that he's dead. Or I'll become the youngest Head of the International Communications Bureau. And then I'll get such a salary that…"

Cho stopped when Terry couldn't hold himself any longer and burst out laughing uncontrollably.

"You have better plans maybe?" Cho asked indignantly.

"Well, couldn't be much worse, now could they?"

"Care to elaborate?"

"I'm going to marry," Terry declared, and when Cho started laughing in her turn, added, "I'll find myself a pretty wife and then I'll borrow the camera from Colin, I already have a deal with him, and then I'll make nice pictures of my pretty wife in sexy clothes and then sell them to magazines and make my wife the first and richest and most well-known witch model, and then…" he stopped, and sent a scrutinizing look at Cho.

The woman looked eager and exited.

"Is it really possible to become so rich by doing almost nothing?"

"Well, I already have a deal with Parvati that their magazine will print the first photos for free… and after that the money will just be flying in!" Terry confirmed, a piece of dried porridge dangling from his eyebrow.

"That's easy," Cho concurred.

They sat in silence for a while.

"So, should I go get the camera?" Terry asked the same moment that Cho opened her mouth.

"So, should I go put something else on?" she said.

They smiled at each other and jumped up from the bench at the same moment, saying, "I'll go now."

They walked out of the Hall in a springy pace.

"But I want a lot of pictures of me in my amazing wedding dress!" Cho said suddenly. "I mean, I will be the most famous witch by that time and I'm sure everyone would like to see it…"

Terry smiled again and ran away towards the Gates of Hogwarts to Apparate to Colin's place and get the camera. Cho made her way slowly to the Ravenclaw Tower.

"I present to you," she told herself, though in her mind there was a world-full of people watching, "the famous, most amazing, most beautiful — Cho Boot!"


	19. Nymphadora and Remus

_**Chapter 19: Nymphadora and Remus**_

"Can this now be the moment to discuss it, please," Tonks asked only a tiny bit sardonically. They were still in the hospital wing, but this time more or less alone; Neville was still sleeping in his bed next to the door, Bill was still unconscious, and Fleur had also dosed off next to him. The Weasleys and Hermione had left, Molly casting very clear and demanding glances towards Remus.

"There's still nothing to discuss," Remus answered and made for the door.

"Yes, there is!" Tonks was far more agile than him and in one swift movement had blocked the door. "I love you and you love me, but only one of us is a pigheaded brick not brave enough to admit it!"

"This is not bravery! This is just plain foolishness to throw yourself into the cave of a monster!" Remus was starting to lose his patience.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, please at least try to see reason!" Tonks despaired.

Fleur stirred a bit, and both Remus and Tonks admonished each other, "Shh!"

"We should continue this talk elsewhere," Remus said silently, watching Fleur calm down again, her one hand buried in Bill's hair, her other gently touching his disfigured face.

"Like hell we will!" Tonks said in a furious whisper. "We will finish this here and now, one way or another."

"And what is this way? Both of us dead in some ditch somewhere, me having torn you to pieces? Or you cowering back at a corner of some dusty old room with me the ferocious beast snarling and about to attack you? Or perhaps…"

"Well, one option is that you lock yourself up in that dusty old room somewhere and spend the rest of your life, however long or short it shall be, wallowing in self pity while I go on with my life and WON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOU…"

"Shhh!"

Tonks shook herself once, smiled quickly and apologetically, then continued.

"And the other one is that you will marry me and we will have kids and we'll both live happily ever after, together until we die."

Remus looked older than he had a moment ago.

"Tonks, I've told you…"

"And," Tonks continued forcefully, though still in a whisper, "as I know quite well that the first option is not an option at all, because I could not go on with my life as if nothing had happened, and as there is no other way, because I refuse to let you ruin my life, the only thing you have to do now is to say that you will marry me." She smiled, willing her teeth as white and her eyes as sparkly as possible, looking rather proud of having come against Remus' cowardice with such unerring logic.

Remus sighed. "You don't…"

"I do!"

"Let me finish. You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what hell you're trying to break into! You don't know what…" he swallowed, "what an uninteresting person I am to be around."

Tonks laughed.

"So that's the reason! No more scaring me away with the wolf! Are you really saying you don't want me because you think I'd be _bored_ with you?"

"Tonks, I…" he looked down ashamedly.

"I _love_ this quiet boring bookworm that you are! Tell me you will marry me!"

"Tonks, I…"

"Tell me! Now! That's an order!"

"Tonks, I…" Remus sighed, and smiled. "All right. If you're so sure, then yes, I will."

"Wheeee!!!" Tonks started, but quickly remembered where she was and covered her mouth with both hands, but her bright dark eyes were still seen sparkling with glee. In a moment she removed her hands again, threw herself into Remus' waiting embrace.

Remus closed his eyes and leaned forward for a kiss which his lips had longed for so long, and he could already feel Tonks' nervous breath on his face, when the woman suddenly slipped out from between his arms, plopped down on a hospital bed and said with a suppressed sob, "It's all wrong!"

Remus opened his eyes again, shocked, hurt, and bewildered.

"But… you said you wanted me to…"

"I did! But you should have said that! And I should have said what you said! And now I'll never have a proper proposal to tell my grandchildren about!"

"Tonks, I…" said Remus again, not knowing what else to say.

"But… I know!" Tonks' face lit up again immediately. "Come here!"

Remus carefully sat down on the bed next to her.

"No, not like that. You must be here!" she indicated with a finger the spot right in front of her.

"Alright," Remus said, standing up again and stopping at the indicated place. Having caught on what she was after, he still refused to surrender to her completely.

"Now kneel down!"

"As my lady commands," Remus said, and slowly got on his knees, wincing when they protested.

"And now say it!"

"It."

"No, you horrible man! Say, will you marry me?"

"I already said, yes, I will."

"Oh, why did I have to fall in love with a prick…" she despaired a bit overenthusiastically.

"A Marauder, my lady, is the correct term…" Remus quickly supplied.

"Please, just give me one nice romantic moment to remember in old age from the time we were in love! Please, Remus!"

"Alright. Nymhadora, my lady, my love, my darling, my honey," he tried to kiss her ankles, but instead got a light kick straight on his nose, "will you marry me? Be my wife, bear my kids, patch my robes, wash my dishes, read my newspapers…"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Tonks quickly answered, not willing to hear out what else the list had in store for her. "You horrible man," she added after a moment, just in case, taking firm hold of the torn collar of his faded robes and pulling him upwards to meet her.

"Correct term is a Marauder," he said, and this time the sweet breath on his face moved closer, to sooth his burning lips.


	20. Victoire and Ted

**Chapter 20: Victoire and Ted**

"You shouldn't have come," Victoire said in a voice that clearly told Teddy that she didn't agree with herself. "Someone might see us and you know how I love to have a secret."

"Especially if it's such a nice secret to have," Teddy smirked and draped his arm around Victoire's shoulder.

"Yeah, it's a good secret," she said and kissed his fingers, which were resting on her shoulder.

"Wonderful secret," Teddy added and leaned his face closer to her to kiss her. But before he could do anything, the door to the compartment banged open and a familiar, yet completely unwelcome voice rang out.

"There seems to be some room in – Vicky? Teddy?"

Teddy groaned. "Hello to you, too, James."

"What are you doing here?" James asked. "What were you doing with Vicky? Were you snogging her? You were snogging her, weren't you? You were! You were snogging Vicky! I can't believe it! You were! Way to go, Teddy! Wait 'till I tell Nicky! Wait 'till I tell everyone!"

"No! James!" Victoire shouted, but she was late. James had already run away, leaving his friend standing at the compartment door uncomfortably.

"I told you someone would see!" Victoire told Teddy. "And that it had to be James! He'll tell Dominique! And she'll tell dad! And everyone will know by the time the train leaves the station!"

"Vicky, I don't care if he'll tell Nicky and Licky, it would have had to come out eventually, anyway," Teddy said, trying to snake his arm around her again.

Victoire snorted in an unladylike manner which didn't quite seem to suit her. "I dare you to call Louis that to his face."

"I'm not suicidal!" Teddy laughed, relieved that Victoire wasn't as tense any more. He kissed her lightly and said, "It won't change anything, though, that they know. Your dad likes me."

"But I like having a secret," Victoire said.

"Oh, so that's what you're angry about. Not everybody knowing, but not having a secret any more!"

"It was a nice secret to have," Victoire said, shrugging. Teddy nodded, took his arm away and stood up.

"I should get going, I suppose. The train is about to leave."

"You're going to leave, just like that?" Victoire asked incredulously.

"Well…" Teddy said and sat down on the other seat, facing her. He studied her, deep in thought, then took hold of her hands.

"I'll give you another secret, if you want," Teddy said slowly and carefully, his eyes locked with hers.

"Another secret? But it won't be as good as the last secret was," she said.

"It will be even better," Teddy promised, his eyes sparkling with some inner light. "Do you want to keep this secret? Will you?"

Victoire could feel a blush rising on her cheeks. "A wonderful secret," she whispered.

"An amazing one," Teddy said just as low, nodding.

"Yes, I will keep this secret. I will, Teddy!" she said, tore her hands free from his, jumped up from her seat and flung herself onto him, throwing her arms around his neck. "I will, Teddy!" she repeated, and kissed him deeply full on his lips.

"Oh no!" Teddy suddenly said, pulling away. "The train's moving!"

"You did say that you have the whole day off, though," Victoire answered in a hushed voice and pulled him down to her again. "You can Apparate home just as well from the Hogsmeade station as from here, and I've never seen anyone checking the tickets on this train." And their whole attention was once again focused on one another.

Gareth Montgomery, James' best friend, silently stepped out of the compartment and slid the door closed behind him.


End file.
